


A Pressing Engagement

by LaLumiere



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Emotional Comfort, F/M, Feels, Hotel Sex, Oral Sex, Sex, Sir!Tom, Smut, Tom Also Has Some Odd Requests, Tom Has Some Cute Requests, escorting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLumiere/pseuds/LaLumiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she'd bothered to read the non-disclosure agreement in its entirety the first time, she would have known who she was working for.</p>
<p>As it turns out, she didn't realize who he was until she read the second agreement. </p>
<p>He's got an interesting set of wants and needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic(let) has been bothering me for days. It's refusing to let me work on any of my other stuff (sorry about that) until I get it started.
> 
> Hang in there with me, lovelies!

The first non-disclosure agreement was standard, run-of-the-mill, and as expected.

_The contractual relationship entered…permits no discussion…any information or personal disclosures…absolutely no media contact…_

Leonore signed it without much thought; she’d read and agreed to so many of these that her usual practice was to skim and sign where indicated. After all, her line of work brought her into many _delicate_ situations. It was the nature of the beast.

The arrival of the second non-disclosure agreement, however, was when things got infinitely more interesting.

She’d taken her “work” documents into the bath with her after a particularly long day that consisted of an hours-long yoga session, a spa appointment that ran the gamut from sugar scrub to bikini wax, and a rather tenuous meeting with her supervisor, Mr. W.

Mr. W. spent the entirety of their conversation looking both inordinately pleased with himself and slightly harried at the subject of his meeting with Leonore. She’d seen this look on W’s face before, only once or twice, and it usually meant there was a client of immense importance and interest utilizing their services.

Unfailingly, Leonore was _always_ the woman Mr. W sent for a job such as that.

There was the ridiculously pompous CEO she’d entertained at a private dinner. His pomposity, regrettably, extended into the bedroom they’d shared later that night at Claridge’s.

More recently, Mr. W had insisted on Leonore for the aging pro-footballer who whisked her away for a weekend. The footballer’s wife didn’t seem to care where he was. Leonore had to pretend to care where _she_ was each time she mentally counted and re-counted the zeroes at the end of the sum said footballer paid for their time.

CEO and pro-footie both had Mr. W in fits of delight when he’d presented them as opportunities for Leonore.

But this latest venture – oh dear.

Mr. W. none-too-gently shoved the sheaf of paper across the table to Leonore, eyeing her with an appraisal that screamed _don’t you dare even THINK about refusing this one._

“Highest profile yet,” he boomed in her face, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest, smug.

“May I ask what’s got you so excited, W?” Leonore inquired warily.

He chuckled softly. “Lots of money. And I’ve heard tell he’s…very _loyal.”_

Loyalty in their business meant an ever-returning customer. It meant Mr. W got a sizeable cut. It meant Leonore could afford to keep her aging parents in their monstrosity of a home.

“Have I heard of him?” Leonore rifled through the stack of additional papers but didn’t focus on any of the fine print. Yet.

“My dear young lady,” W laughed again, calling Leonore young in a way that made her 34-year-old self cringe, “did you even read the NDA?”

Scoffing, Leonore rolled her eyes. What was the point? They all said the same thing in vague, different terms. What was another businessman? Another athlete?

“Tell you what, Nore, I’m going to sit here and watch you read this second contract in its entirety. I’ll bet you twenty quid that you’ll be blushing before page three.”

It turned out that she’d made it halfway through the second page. And so it was that, twenty quid lighter, Leonore left the meeting, paperwork in tow, to return to her home and begin fulfilling the terms of the second non-disclosure agreement sent to her.

From Tom Hiddleston.

 

 

Careful to keep the papers clasped in a dry hand, Leonore reread the contract information in its entirety, safely ensconced in the warm waters of her bath.

_Now that an overall NDA has been signed and agreed upon by both parties, here begins the addendum to the original NDA, hereafter referred to as “The Terms”. The Terms shall all be met, in the form of an initial, prior to any meeting of the two parties listed explicitly within the first NDA. Should any of The Terms not be initialed (and thus agreed upon), any and all arrangements made will immediately become null and void. Henceforth,_ Leonore S. _will be named within The Terms as “employee” and_ Thomas W. Hiddleston _will be named within The Terms as “employer”._

Leonore began ticking a delicately manicured finger down the list of imperatives Mr. Hiddleston requested, her legs sloshing gently in the bathwater as she read.

_The employee will agree to meet with the employer at any time, in any place, so long as his request is placed a minimum of 24 hours beforehand._

_The employee is not responsible for transportation and shall rely solely on the employer regarding departures and arrivals from points A to points B, and vice versa._

_The employee will, upon receipt of The Terms, disclose to the employer via an appropriate channel of communication her:_

_1\. clothing size_

_2\. ring size_

_3\. digestif preference_

_4\. lingerie size(s)_

_The employee agrees to wear ONLY black or navy blue lingerie under a belted, closed coat to and from pre-arranged meeting locations during reasonable transportation timeframes (less than one hour). No other clothing is permitted unless lengthier travel times dictate such necessities._

_The employee will stay with the employer until her dismissal._

_The employee agrees to submit to the employer, in writing, signed evidence that she is in the care of a licensed, practicing gynecologist of good standing._

_The employee agrees to submit to the employer, in writing, signed evidence that she conducts an effective regimen of birth control._

_The employee agrees to address the employer as “Tom”, “Sir”, or “Mr. Hiddleston”._

_The employee will once again agree to strict confidentiality regarding The Terms and any and all other documentation provided by the employer._

Leonore let the papers slip to the floor, sliding under the water in the tub until she was completely submerged. She blew several small bubbles out of her nose as she contemplated _The Terms._ There wasn’t anything shocking or untoward, to be sure. She’d seen, read, and agreed to far worse in the small handful of years she’d worked for Mr. W. But Mr. W. had been right in placing his little twenty quid bet. Because as professional as Leonore was, all it took was Tom Hiddleston’s name, coupled with phrases like _ONLY black or navy blue lingerie_ and _effective regimen of birth control_ to have her blushing like mad. There were no inferences needed here – she wouldn’t be going out to galas and awards dinners and red carpets.

Leonore was signing her name to be Tom Hiddleston’s private little secret.

Could she be calm and collected about this opportunity? Of course she could. She was a woman with an outstanding reputation.

Was she willing and able to place her initials beside all components of The Terms? Very much so; she would begin as soon as she drained the tub.

What Leonore was _unable_ to do, by the time she emerged from the water, pulled the plug from the drain, and wrapped herself in a warm towel, was stop the thrill of excitement unfurling in her stomach. She was nervous.

Old, decrepit CEOs and lying athletes were one thing. But an actor Leonore followed with some significant interest was quite another. It didn’t help that she found him to be just her type, even though in her line of work all types were conveniently “just her type”.

Her accumulated knowledge over the last three years from random web searches brought forth those delicious little tidbits she’d kept about him: his height, eye and hair color, his classical education and pedigreed upbringing. She’d seen enough stills and video to know how the veins corded in his neck when he acted particularly passionate about something. She’d even viewed enough photos to know about the delicate little freckles in his left ear.

It was embarrassing that at thirty-four she had a crush on someone she didn’t know and thought she would never meet. How wrong of an assumption _that_ was.

Drying off and slipping on a floor-length silk robe, Leonore gently picked _The Terms_ off the bathroom floor and padded to the desk in the corner of her bedroom, where she uncapped a fountain pen and began carefully initialing each specification of the second contract. Rereading as she went, she felt yet another warm blush working its way up her neck.

She then wrote her clothing and lingerie sizes neatly in careful handwriting, puzzling for a moment as to why her ring size would be necessary, before adding it to the list. Her last scrawl on the document listed Armagnac brandy as her evening drink of choice. She hadn’t read the last part of The Terms.

_When the employee has read and agreed to all stipulations in The Terms, she is to contact the employer first by faxing the information contained herein, followed by sending a text message to the following number with a reply ONLY consisting of “Ready, sir.”_

Sighing, Leonore dropped the contract onto her dresser and slid her robe into a pool of fabric at her feet. She’d need to get dressed and go back to the office so Mr. W. could send _The Terms_ , freshly initialed, as well as her other pertinent documentation, back via fax. Then and only then could she send her reply.

 

 

Leonore masked her intrigue and embarrassment with a careful ennui as she watched Mr. W. fax the materials she so carefully scoured and signed. The twenty-minute Tube ride back to his office was just long enough to make her antsy, and by the time she’d made her way back into W’s den of iniquity she was biting her lip in frustration at having to wait before sending her message to _the_ Tom Hiddleston.

She hadn’t yet contemplated why the actor’s arrangements were so…odd.

It wasn’t as though an actor wanting to hire a particularly expensive and sought-after escort was something odd in itself, no. That sort of thing happened far more regularly than people knew. After all, sex and secrecy were many times made to go perfectly hand in hand.

But her…employer’s second list of terms gave Leonore pause. They were oddly specific: about her clothing, her ring size…what she was to wear and not wear…all of her previous clients were just happy to settle with her on a financial agreement and do with her as they wished. Her preferences had never before been discussed, much less in writing.

As the fax processed, it hit Leonore that she was halfway involved with Tom Hiddleston now. She had only to send a message to the foreboding-looking number within her copy of _The Terms_ and something else would set into motion.

“I take it you’ve already spoken with him?” Mr. W’s voice broke Leonore from her hazy reverie. He had that ridiculously immense grin still on his face, the same one he wore in their meeting earlier.

“Not yet, W.”

Gathering her coat and bag, Leonore made a blatant show of disinterest and detachment for her boss to witness; it wouldn’t do if he got wind of her sudden… _desire_ to begin this next job. _Attachment attracts anarchy_ , he always told her. _Best to remain cold unless you’re…in the act._

“Don’t wait too long, Nore. Valuable contract, Hiddleston is.”

 

 

She elected to take a cab back instead of the train; foolish as it was to admit to herself, she didn’t want anyone eavesdropping when his message finally came through.

_**Ready, sir.** _

The message registered as “delivered” as soon as she hit send, climbing into the back of the taxi and giving the cabbie her address home. The display on her mobile read 7:06 pm.

Two blocks later the message registered as “read” and Leonore gulped, seeing the grey ellipsis bubble on her screen which indicated someone – most hopefully her employer – was responding.

_**Good evening, Leonore. I see we’re all set, aren’t we?** _

She could practically hear his voice as she read the message. Her heart beat slightly faster in her chest as she contemplated how to respond. She already knew she could only address him in one of three ways, per _The Terms_ , but she was feeling exhilarated at the prospect laid out before her. She took two deep breaths, reining herself in.

_**Yes, Mr. Hiddleston.** _

The text was delivered and read, both in the same blink of an eye. Leonore couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as he immediately began typing his next reply.

_**I do apologize, Leonore, for the breach of contract I’m about to commit, but I’ll have need of you this evening.** _

A small gasp of surprise escaped her lips at this turn of events.

Before she could answer, he sent another message.

_**And I understand it violates** _ **The Terms** _**, not giving you twenty-four hours notice, so I understand if you are unavailable.** _

She’d never felt more available for a job in her life. This was a new feeling she was unaccustomed to. Normally getting ready for a job meant self-medicating, pep talks. It meant convincing herself that what she was doing would help secure her future and her parents’ livelihood.

She needed very little convincing now.

Thinking back to _The Terms_ , Leonore respectfully crafted her answer.

_**Tell me what time your car will arrive, sir.** _

She paid the cabbie, thanked him, and made her way hastily up through the gated front of her home, staring down at the screen of her mobile the entire time. Luckily she’d left entrance lights on so her porch was well lit. Leonore had no time to nurse a sprained ankle.

It didn’t bother her that, although they hadn’t had a conversation about it, she knew her employer knew where she lived. That was par for the course – he’d obviously checked her out and knew everything he cared to know about her. That’s why he _chose_ her. This knowledge made her feel less guilt at knowing random biographical facts about him, gathered and stored during lazy forays of internet surfing.

_**You have fifteen minutes. And I’d prefer black to navy tonight, darling.** _

The message materialized on her screen as she was making her way to her bedroom, stepping out of her shoes and hurriedly unzipping her skirt before attempting the buttons of her blouse, followed by the clasps of her white bra. Her underwear went next; they were also the wrong color for the occasion.

Naked and rifling through her lingerie collection, Leonore sent what would be her last text for the evening.

_**Yes sir.** _

Tossing her phone onto the bed, she committed wholeheartedly to locating the most expensive set of black lace lingerie she owned. While she had various – _copious_ – sets in her collection, the one she chose was her favorite. Intricate, delicate, _Agent Provocateur_ at its finest.

It hadn’t yet been worn during a job.

Musing that she had roughly ten minutes until her departure, Leonore freshened herself up in the loo: brushing her teeth, powdering her nose, arranging her shiny-straight black tresses against her shoulders, and putting in the tiny diamond earrings she always wore for luck.

Luck with the CEO meant not having to swallow.

Luck with pro-footie was when she actually had an orgasm during their third go-round.

Leonore wasn’t sure what kind of luck she’d have with Tom Hiddleston. Hopefully it would be good. The thought made her shiver pleasantly.

Five minutes remained as she cinched the black trench coat tightly around her lace-swathed form and then stooped down to pick up her bag and her heels, walking as calmly as she could down to the foyer to wait.

Three minutes remained as Leonore inventoried her bag: mobile and charger, wallet, emergency contraception, little makeup bag, brush, mints, and plasters. She’d learned after a few years of uncomfortable shoes and a particularly bad evening with a drunken man and some broken glass that it was always a good idea to be prepared.

Her fingers sought her keys with seconds to go, and Leonore was locking her front door as the sleek black Jaguar pulled curbside and loitered, waiting for her. A man got out who was definitely _not_ Tom Hiddleston and smiled at her as she carefully made her way to the car.

“Evening, ma’am.”

He held the door open for her, standing a respectable distance from where she passed. He didn’t even make an attempt to try and see underneath her coat. This pleased her.

“Good evening,” she smiled, folding herself gracefully into the back of the car. Leonore waited until the driver resumed his position and pulled away from her home before continuing the conversation.

“Thank you for coming round to collect me,” she said. “May I have your name?”

Turning slightly in his seat to smile politely at her, the gentleman nodded.

“Name’s Reese, ma’am. I’ve been instructed to let you know we’ll be there shortly and for you to keep your mobile handy so Mr. Hiddleston can contact you.”

Leonore nodded and fished her phone out of her bag, eyes dropping to the display. A tiny thrill trembled through her when she saw two new messages from her employer.

_**You’re coming to the Mandarin Oriental.** _

_**Red lipstick, if you’ve any, please.** _

She did, and she’d put it on even before leaving her house. It wasn’t standard practice for her to wear lip color, but every so often she opted for soft shades to enlarge her dewy Spanish pout. The red was a new, last minute decision.

Leonore was intrigued at Mr. Hiddleston’s interest in her lip color; she was also inordinately pleased at herself for “predicting” what he wanted. She made it her business many times to investigate what her clients might like, and had done her research before previous jobs to make sure that she delivered on all counts.

There hadn’t been much guesswork for this latest venture. He’d spelled out his requests, although there were only a few per _The Terms_ , and she hadn’t yet felt the need to examine the scenario any further. Or perhaps he just hadn’t given her ample time. This was the absolute fastest turnaround from contract to meeting she’d ever experienced.

Leonore nervously fiddled with the backings of her earrings as London’s nighttime traffic whizzed past her window. She inspected her shaped, glossed nails. She checked her stockings for any runs or tiny tears, finding none. Another message flickered to life on the phone in her lap.

_**Don’t be shy when you arrive. Room 209…the door will be open.** _

She wanted to respond to him but had nothing of importance, or even propriety, to add to the conversation. He was just giving her directives, after all. Leonore’s job was to follow instructions, essentially, and as she was doing just that, there was no need for conversation. Conversation was something she rarely found to be useful in her situation. Not with the list of jobs to her name.

“Ma’am? I’ll just be letting you off at the valet area,” Reese said politely, gesturing with one hand on the wheel. The car stopped, and before Leonore could get out, Reese was at her door, opening it for her and holding a hand out so she could get her bearings before walking into the opulent elegance of the Mandarin’s lobby.

Clutching her bag at her side, Leonore took a deep breath of the chilly night air and turned to Reese, gifting him with a mega-watt smile that belied the nervousness roiling in her stomach.

“Thank you, Reese. Lovely to meet you.”

With a curt nod, the driver turned and got back into the Jag, speeding off. Leonore was left to walk carefully into the lobby, running her usual “script” through her head as she passed people and turned heads.

_You are meant to be here._

_You look good. You are good._

_No one has to know a thing about you._

_Just stand tall and turn it on._

With a rehearsed air of seductive intrigue, Leonore approached the lifts and matter-of-factly pushed the button that would bring her to the second floor. The practiced ease with which she relaxed against the mirrored wall of the lift gave others around her cause to stare: a beautiful woman, sure of herself, sure of her destination. That part always threw her, when she really thought about it.

People had no idea who or what she actually was. And she was definitely sure they had no idea what was awaiting her in Room 209.

The lift doors closed; she took a deep breath. The tight cinch of her belted coat probably wasn’t helping the butterflies in her stomach. As she rose to the second floor, she loosened the taut knot just a fraction.

A soft tap echoed in her ears as the lift stopped on the second floor, the doors opening smoothly, silently into the expansive, carpeted hallway. Taking one more deep breath, Leonore put her best-heeled foot forward and turned an immediate right toward her destination.

_I wonder if he’s as handsome in person,_ she began in her head.

It didn’t take long to find out.

Tom Hiddleston was leaning casually in the doorway of his suite, waiting for her. He looked thrilled.

 

 

Tom had Leonore in his arms before she could even manage to take a breath and formally introduce herself. She’d experienced a great deal of physical contact in her life – in her job – but this was altogether new.

“Leonore my darling,” Tom murmured into her hair as he hugged her to him.

Her eyes closed of their own volition, inhaling his masculine scent and registering the smooth fabric of his dress shirt. He was warm, exuding warmth in fact, and she finally took a moment to appreciate just how tall he really was.

Even in her stilettos, she was a good head shorter than he, and she felt him press his chin gently against the top of her head as he continued hugging her. They were still in the hallway.

“Give me a kiss, love,” he pulled away from her, still holding onto her with what Leonore felt to be large hands.

She mused to herself that she was _rarely_ asked for a kiss when he pulled her back into him, crushing her blood red lips to his mouth. He wasted no time, probing her mouth with an insistent tongue.

Normally this would have grossed her out, or given her second thoughts about a client. But he was so overpowering, so intoxicating, that Leonore found herself giving in. Her body’s natural response was to wrap around him and open her mouth, acquiescing to Tom’s demands.

When he broke the kiss, breathing heavily, he ushered Leonore into the suite with a flourish, closing and locking the door behind her.

With slightly wide eyes, she smiled up at him, seeing traces of her lipstick at the corners of his mouth.

He looked positively delectable.

Now _that_ was a new feeling on a job.

Reaching for the belt of her coat, Leonore made to introduce herself to Tom Hiddleston properly. After all, he’d given her no time to say anything from the moment she stepped off the lift.

“It’s very nice to meet y –”

He stopped her with a press of his index finger against her lips.

“Allow me, please.”

With deft hands, Tom unknotted the belt of Leonore’s coat, staring into her eyes with a pleasurable gaze the entire time. Her coat buttons went next, and she found all she could do was stand in front of her employer, somewhat awkwardly, as he slowly slid each button from its trap. When the coat fell open to reveal her black _Provocateur,_ he whistled lowly.

“Good. This pleases me immensely.”

Tom’s gentle hands slid underneath the coat at her shoulders and encouraged the garment off of her. He tucked the coat across his arm and with a free hand led Leonore into the suite, his eyes raking up and down her scantily clad form approvingly.

“Forgive me for leering, Leonore,” he started, but she shook her head a little, smiling. Turning to stare into his beautiful eyes, which she couldn’t seem to look away from, she spoke very softly, embarrassed at how taken she already was with her employer.

“Mr. Hiddleston, it’s my pleasure to serve you, sir.”

At her admission, Tom issued a somewhat strangled moan from deep in his throat.

“Oh, Leonore. I do believe we’re going to get on very well, darling.”

He led her through the sitting room of the suite, veering off into the rather spacious bedroom that was lit only by the light of the moon.

“Shoes off. And you may sit there,” Tom gestured to the divan next to the king-sized bed.

Leonore gracefully stepped out of her shoes and walked slowly, invitingly, toward the cream-coloured settee. The job always dictated that Leonore do things _invitingly,_ because that was the job. But she wanted to _be_ inviting for Tom Hiddleston.

The sway of her hips worked their magic, for as she sat down and raised her eyes to her employer, she could see a look of pure lust and approval radiating in his gaze. He was loosening his tie, giving the overall impression of one who had just tussled with a lover.

Leonore had never so strongly wanted to _be_ someone’s lover.

“May I offer you a drink, lovely thing?”

The tie was stripped from around his neck and left to drop into a pool beside those mile-long legs of his.

Alcohol would at this point do one of two things for Leonore: relax her to the point that she’d lose her edge, or place a fire in her belly that would enhance the heady sensuality of being _alone in a bedroom with Tom Hiddleston_.

She hoped for the latter, remembering the specification in _The Terms_ that she preferred Armagnac as an evening drink. Smiling demurely, with a sweep of her eyelashes against her caramel complexion, Leonore nodded once.

“Yes, sir.”

Tom smiled at her. A genuine, friendly smile. The lick of his tongue against his bottom lip was not, however, what she would describe as friendly. It made her ache.

“Wait right there, Leonore.”

She did as she was told, watching him stride confidently into the living area and over to a decanter of brandy. He lolled the amber liquid into a delicate snifter, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt with a flick of his fingers, and returned to her side. “

Thank you, sir,” Leonore said warmly, accepting the drink. She swirled the alcohol in the glass for a moment, inhaling at the rich, heady scent wafting from the snifter. Tom murmured a soft “welcome” and then, to Leonore’s surprise, knelt at her feet in front of the divan.

“I’m going to remove your stockings now, darling. Take a sip and tell me if it pleases you.”

The look in his eyes was almost pleading, as if he – _the_ Tom Hiddleston – was desperate to please _her._ The cock of his eyebrow turned him boyishly handsome, whereas moments ago he had been all man: tall, sure of himself, striding around with shirt buttons undone.

The first taste of brandy hit Leonore’s lips just as Tom’s long, warm fingers unclasped the braces of her suspenders at the tops of her thighs. He assumed the groan that issued from her lips derived from the taste of the Armagnac.

It didn’t.

“Very good…thank you, sir,” Leonore whispered after swallowing the liquid in her mouth. The burn in her throat turned her voice husky, and she saw Tom’s pupils dilate at her tone.

Having peeled both of her stockings gracefully from her legs, Tom sat the delicates aside, draping them across the arm of the settee, and ran a hand _almost…lovingly_ through Leonore’s dark hair.

“I want a kiss after each sip you take, Leonore. And I’m going to keep undressing you.”

He removed the tails of his shirt from his trousers, moving from his position on the floor to sit beside her on the divan. She didn’t need to be told twice. This was a job she actually _wanted_ to do.

Stroking a hand through his hair, Leonore brought Tom’s mouth to her own for a languid, brandy-tinged kiss. A soft moan vibrated from his lips to hers. Whether at the taste of the alcohol or of her, she wasn’t sure.

A second sip of the Armagnac saw Tom unclasping the sumptuous material of Leonore’s bra, carefully peeling the straps from her shoulders and guiding the black contraption down the contours of her arms. She switched the snifter from one hand to the other as Tom freed her from the garment. Ever obedient to her client, Leonore once more returned her mouth to his lips, noticing her eagerness to do so just as she felt warm fingertips brushing against the silken skin of her breasts.

The soft _“oh”_ that escaped from her mouth into Tom’s was not lost on him. Leonore could taste his smile.

“In future, Leonore, I’d like for you to address me as Tom if I do something you like. Understand?” he brushed palms against her straining nipples as if to test her response.

Without meaning to, Leonore let her forehead rest against Tom’s, her breath hitching slightly at his words and his stimulation.

“Yes…Tom.”

He kissed her cheek chastely before moving his hands to the material of her suspender belt. “Another sip?” he urged playfully.

Leonore complied, relaxing at the unfastening around her waist. The accoutrement had no sooner dropped onto the floor when her arms twined themselves around Tom’s neck, pulling him close for the fourth kiss of their relatively short evening together. Against her mouth, Tom whispered a commanding yet gentle “stand up.” She did so, her arms still wrapped around him and his mouth returning to her own. He broke the kiss to let her know he was almost finished.

“Knickers last, lovely girl. Take one more drink for me, please.”

Her pulse hammered in her throat as Tom’s hands skimmed the tan skin of Leonore’s abdomen, stopping only when his fingers hooked into the gauzy fabric of her underwear. With a tiny tug downward, the last of her clothing slid down her legs as the last of the brandy slid down her throat.

The kiss this time was different. Tom initiated – quite hungrily – and wrapped Leonore around his still-clothed body, carrying her to the bed and laying her carefully against the luxurious duvet. She clung to him, no longer playing a part she’d resigned herself to over the course of her jobs – that of an entranced woman – finally overwhelmed at the closeness and intimacy being forged between herself and a man she’d admired and, admittedly, lusted after for quite some time.

Could he actually be this wonderful?

The planes of his face turned serious as he removed his arms from underneath her back. His hands moved to her earlobes, and Leonore, in her haze, looked at him in confusion. He gently took out her diamond earrings, reaching over her to place them safely on top of the nightstand nearest him.

So much for her good luck.

“I’d like for you to wear nothing when I have you,” Tom cleared his throat as if trying to redirect himself from distraction, if distraction was a five-foot-nine Spanish beauty named Leonore. “You’re only to wear this.”

He fished in his pocket momentarily, and Leonore assumed he would produce a collar, or some sort of clamp or necklace or blindfold. Heaven knew she’d had to deal with worse in her previous encounters. What appeared in his hand, however, was not any of the above.

It was a three or four-carat diamond ring.

He held it in front of her face as if to let her appraise it, and she noticed the flawless beauty of the emerald cut.

_So this explains the ring question…_

He didn’t seem to be asking, so she wasn’t surprised when he slipped it on her left hand, right in the spot where an engagement ring would sit. It fit perfectly.

When he lovingly took her left hand in his and held it out so they might both look at his handiwork, her senses returned to her.

“Yes, sir.”

Tom kissed her left palm in reply, then gently moved Leonore further up the bed so her head rested comfortably against the large mound of pillows at the headboard. He took great care to arrange her hair so it wasn’t trapped beneath her, and smiled down at her when he seemed satisfied with her position.

Leonore bit her lip curiously when he didn’t immediately start undressing himself. Perhaps she wasn’t doing a satisfactory job? She needed to kick up the sex appeal significantly. Tom Hiddleston was a tall order. Literally.

He, for his part, didn’t seem to be in a hurry like Leonore. Before she could begin her seduction anew – she was indeed relaxed from the brandy and the kissing – Tom pressed himself over her and bent his head down to capture her right breast in his mouth, suckling fleetingly at the tip before moving to her left one.

“Tom…” she breathed in pleasured surprise.

He grinned a devastating grin at her response.

“Very good, darling. Let’s begin.”


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom apparently gets what he paid for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…this story gets weirder the more I write. (SMUT.)
> 
> Give me your thoughts. I'm interested to know what you think of this.

The thing about pleasure was that Leonore’s job dictated it in _every_ aspect.

She was paid to _give_ it; she was paid to exude it, to curate it. She many times had to pretend to _receive_ it, too. Pleasure ran the gamut in Leonore’s working world:

Attempting to enjoy a fine wine she cared nothing about.

Making someone believe she was genuinely tickled by his joke.

Tamping down her revulsion at the garish luxury thrown at her in an effort to please, to impress her as if she were someone’s little pet.

Accompanying a gentleman for a tryst so that he felt pleasure in deceiving his wife (and in sharing that deception with Leonore).

True pleasure, at work, had long ceased to be for Nore.

Until about thirty-five minutes ago.

When Tom Hiddleston spoke of getting started, saying “let’s begin” to a naked and perfectly willing Leonore, she assumed her evening would play out just as every other working night usually did.

She was naked; he would follow suit.

He would find his pleasure, caring little, if at all, whether or not she found hers.

The duration of this activity would range from one to three hours, more if he were particularly juiced on something.

Payment might be exchanged; additional arrangements procured.

And she would leave. He hadn’t specified anything to the contrary.

So it was much to Leonore’s surprise, delight, and blushing embarrassment that, shortly after announcing the commencement of their evening, Tom Hiddleston settled his still-clothed body between her exquisitely long legs and began to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against her mons, staring up at her all the while.

She lasted approximately five seconds before her hands were gripping the sheets beneath her and she was making a tiny keening sound in her throat. Tom apparently wanted to hear more of that particular sound, for he switched tactics and wasted absolutely no time licking a firm stripe through her freshly-waxed folds.

What had he requested of her? _Oh._

“Tom…” she murmured as seductively as possible, trying not to let him hear the tremble of pleasure in her tone.

At the sound of his name tumbling from her still-red mouth, her employer laughed a deep, sweet sound against her in encouragement before gently clasping his mouth over her clit.

Leonore didn’t make it a habit of touching her clients too intimately during work, unless she was the one doing the servicing. This was usually because she felt revulsion ninety percent of the time. And after all, _attachment attracts anarchy_. But when he began to suck at her little pearl in rhythmic pulls, her hands instinctively flew into his short, well-groomed hair to hold him against her. There was nothing planned or false about her actions, and she colored at how quickly he’d managed to drive her out of her carefully controlled mind.

“What do you say, Leonore?” Tom moved his mouth from her momentarily and she whimpered at the loss of precious contact. His eyes on hers alone had her contracting strongly, body searching for more stimulation. Her stomach muscles clenched tightly when his warm hands curled around her hips as he waited.

“Tom,” she groaned, her voice gravelly with want.

“Very _good.”_

And with that, he pressed his face more fully into her, throwing all entire concentration at working her up the sharp incline toward blessed release that she so rarely received during her working hours.

Leonore was a visual creature. Her line of work demanded she be so, and it showed in the way she dressed, in the way her makeup was carefully applied, in the set of her shoulders and the seductive twist of her spine. She knew how to be what people enjoyed viewing. She also _savored_ the view, during the few times when it just so happened to be spectacular. Like now, for instance.

Tom Hiddleston, still dressed to thrill in a tight, white dress shirt and the snuggest trousers she’d ever seen, was unabashedly pressing his nose, mouth, and chin against her copiously-leaking sex, licking at her like an ice cream treat.

Leonore couldn’t look away from his intense stare, feeling the warm tingle deep in her belly as her body started tensing, seeking out what Tom seemed determined to bring to her. Slowing his ministrations to languid swirls of his tongue around the little pink button between her thighs, Tom removed a hand from Leonore’s hip and took hold of her left hand, which was still tightly clenched in his hair. He brought said hand, adorned with that sparkling stone, between her legs, urging her fingers apart in a _vee_ shape so she held herself open before his glistening mouth.

“Just so we’re clear, Leonore,” Tom whispered authoritatively, if not respectfully, “you may come whenever you like. Stay open for me.”

His warm words settled against her sex and she exhaled shakily, nodding her head as she watched Tom press a series of little kisses to her throbbing clit.

“You aren’t used to this, are you?” Tom growled, resuming a punishing rhythm of licks against her slick sex. He then gauged her reaction when he slid a long, thin finger into her core, his pupils dilating as he felt her walls greedily latch onto his digit.

“Oh… _no_ , Tom…” Leonore purred, desperately trying to prevent her voice from breaking at the feeling of him _inside._

He added a second finger, staring up at her in immense interest as he did so. Tom removed all but the very tip of his tongue from her clit as his fingers both found purchase deep in her womb. She thought she would die before he placed his mouth on her again. When her head fell back at the welcome intrusion, he chuckled – again – and kissed the diamond on her hand, which was a mere centimeter from her soaked flesh.

“No, _no._ Watch me eat, darling.”

His lewd words, delivered so crisply, so seductively in that distinct voice, swiftly brought her right to the edge of the precipice, and she thrust her hips mindlessly, working to attain the pleasure that dangled just out of her reach. Narrowing his captivating eyes at Leonore, watching her come to grips with the very satisfying orgasm that was about to overtake her entire being, Tom began gently stroking the thumb of his left hand in affectionate circles along Nore’s hipbone. His sweet touch was in direct opposition to the filthy things his tongue was doing to her aching, needy pussy and the devilishly pleased stare he leveled at her. She caught said stare as her head lifted from the pillow once more.

With wide eyes, the young woman struggled to absorb the erotically charged scene between her legs. Barely able to hold herself open for her employer much longer, Leonore began trembling, hearing a faint whisper curling in her ears until she realized it was her voice, continually moaning the word _“yes”_ in devastating repetition. Soon she began crying the word in time with each lap of Tom’s tongue, each swipe that rasped against her throbbing clit and extended upward into the sensitive web of skin between her ring and middle finger, right where the gemstone winked in the pale moonlight.

_“Tom…?”_ Leonore breathed, his name ending on a question.

Her employer knew what this meant. So he simply curled his fingers, _hard,_ inside of Nore’s clenching sex.

And then he bit her clitoris.

 

 

By the time she came to, by the time her vision was no longer fuzzy, Tom had disrobed completely and was crawling lazily on top of her flushed, trembling body.

“Hello, my Leonore,” he purred, pleased. He efficiently settled himself directly over her, gorgeously nude and blessedly aroused. “Get your breath, my stunning girl. There’s no hurry…”

Oh, but there _was._ The words had barely fallen from his delicious mouth before he’d sheathed himself – hot and thick and _bareback_ – deep within Nore.

The obscene moan torn from her throat was unlike any noise she’d ever made while working.

He stilled completely once he’d maneuvered his entire length (and girth) inside her. She found herself breathing hard at the sudden intrusion, working to relax her inner muscles to accommodate and stretch for her employer.

_Her rather well-endowed employer._

Who then began to do nothing but talk to her.

“I hope you don’t mind, Leonore,” he murmured close to her mouth as he skimmed fingers along her collarbones, “but sometimes I tend to talk too much.” He bowed his head to lick at the patch of skin above her heart. “Show me your ring, please.” He suckled for a quick second at her earlobe.

When she removed her bejeweled hand from its place atop Tom Hiddleston’s firm ass – _when did I put that there?_ she thought – into his line of sight, he delicately splayed her fingers across her throat, diamond showcased by the hollow.

“Do you like it?”

Leonore was supremely confused. Confused about his insistence on the ring. Confused about Tom’s inability to just move his hips, _for God’s sake please move them._

He pressed a kiss to her lips, staying next to her mouth when he urged, “Answer me, please.”

If she was honest, it was a hell of a ring.

“Yes, sir.”

He moved his face away from her, a bit of hurt flitting across his face. “Just sir? No _Tom?”_

Her momentary lapse had her mentally berating herself. _You’re supposed to respond with his NAME if you like something._

Normally she wouldn’t have committed such a simple faux pas. She was usually so attuned to what her clients requested of her. But this _…now…_ she was languid and fuzzy from the orgasm. She was hyperaware of the 6’2 Adonis throbbing inside of her, resting his lithe muscles atop her own.

“Yes, Tom,” she whispered quickly, trying to make up for the error.

No sooner had she said it than he began to thrust wildly within her, arranging her legs low on his hips and commanding her to put her arms around his neck. Leonore’s eyes closed, her whole body tensing at the pleasurable onslaught. She was still tender, still aroused from her employer’s recent attentions.

_“My,_ but you’re wet.”

The way he said it, almost in boyish awe, had Nore biting her lip, blushing. Never mind that he was pounding into her g-spot with blunt force. She smiled, in spite of trying to play seductress. She simply couldn’t, the sensations were so overwhelming.

“Yes…I am…”

Tom nuzzled her neck in reply, almost as if in a gesture of thanks. “Can I touch you?” he begged, looking fearful that she might refuse him.

_“Please”_ was past her lips before she could even take a breath.

Nore’s relief matched Tom’s when those long, thin fingers of his began to flutter back and forth against her drenched sex, caressing against the tiny little spot that needed attending to. She cried out his name. _Again,_ and so soon after the first time.

“Am I getting you close, Leonore?” Tom moaned against her mouth.

She nodded a soft, pleasurable “uh…huh…” and wrapped herself tighter around his sweat-slickened body. Briefly, she remembered watching one of Tom’s films on Netflix during a rare night to herself…something with Rachel Weisz…and replaying the scene of Tom laid out naked on a bed, long and lean and handsome as the devil. Her hips bucked at the memory.

“Do you always get to come?”

_My but he talks a lot…_

She shook her head no.

His thrusts picked up speed, fingers blurring as he rubbed at her ferociously. “You will with me.”

 

 

He was right; he was right that time, and he was right an hour or so later when he had her up against the wall of the entryway, encouraging her to watch their reflections in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

He was right after that, when he stretched himself out on top of the suite’s coffee table and made Leonore sit on his face, his fingers digging into her fleshy bottom as she wailed his name to the ceiling, her arousal pooling all over his mouth, chin, and neck.

He was right one last time as he took her violently from behind, Leonore’s body pressed head-to-toe against the cold sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. By that time, it was 2:00 am and she couldn’t stand up.

Tom kissed the ring on her finger, worked his way up her limp arm to her swollen mouth, and then carried her gently to the bed.

“I know I’ve explicitly stated black or navy blue for you, Leonore,” he began again, moving from the bed to rifle through the contents of one of his large suitcases, open against the far wall of the bedroom. “But I’d like to see this on you.”

Professional, sexy Nore would have normally been alert and flirtatious – _still_ – at this point during any OTHER job. Working for Tom Hiddleston exhausted her so much that she barely lifted her head until she felt the smooth slide of silk against her bare thighs.

He was trying to rouse his employee with a cream coloured satin and lace tap set. Sensing her immense exhaustion, and unable to hide his male pride at being the cause of it, Tom gathered Leonore against him into a sitting position and helped her shimmy the tiny bottoms up her legs and the camisole over her head. He then spent the next several minutes rocking her in his arms gently, moving a hand every so often to card through her hair, or adjust the diamond on her hand, or to rub her shoulder.

She just wanted to sleep.

Normally, if Nore worked with a client who required her…well, to _stay over_ , whether it be for a night or a weekend or – _god forbid_ – longer, she wanted to sleep because she was bored, or freaked out, or disgusted.

Working for Tom Hiddleston exhausted her physically.

He’d literally wrung out every ounce of pleasure her body possessed. She needed to sleep. And when he reclined in the spacious bed with her in his arms, she decided it was a divine idea to actually _sleep_ with Tom Hiddleston.

But apparently she was still on the clock.

“May I read to you, Leonore?”

She swallowed the yawn so he wouldn’t notice, nodding her head. The copy of _Dracula_ practically materialized in his hands.

“Just for a bit, gorgeous. Helps me wind down,” Tom explained. He flipped to a dog-eared page, curling Nore firmly against him, and began reading aloud to her.

_“All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some day it should meet Mina’s eyes and cause her pain, but it is the truth. They whispered together, and then they all three laughed, such a silvery, musical laugh, but as hard as though the sound never could have come through the softness of human lips. It was like the intolerable, tingling sweetness of water glasses when played on by a cunning hand. The fair girl shook her head coquettishly, and the other two urged her on._

_“One said, ‘Go on! You are first, and we shall follow. Yours is the right to begin.’_

_“The other added, ‘He is young and strong. There are kisses for us all.’_

_“I lay quiet, looking out from under my eyelashes in an agony of delightful anticipation. The fair girl advanced and bent over me till I could feel the movement of her breath upon me. Sweet it was in one sense, honey-sweet, and sent the same tingling through the nerves as her voice, but with a bitter underlying the sweet, a bitter offensiveness, as one smells in blood. “I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited, waited with beating heart….”_

The novel was a strange choice, to be sure, and Leonore almost cracked a joke about Tom being some sort of blood-sucking vampire at one point, but instead of lulling her to sleep as she thought Tom’s reading would do, the opposite happened.

Despite her thorough satiation, listening to the words in Tom’s sinful voice ignited her desire once more. She was aware of the slow, lazy flow of her arousal seeping through the silk of her newly gifted lingerie.

Tom kept close hold of her, still reading of the trials of Jonathan Harker. By the time he reached the end of the chapter, his seductive voice speaking of fear and death, Nore was unconsciously rubbing her thighs together, a sticky wet patch blooming on the fabric between her legs.

The minute he closed the novel, discarding it onto the bedside table, Leonore launched herself at his mouth, laving at the seam of his lips with her tongue in desperation.

Tom responded to the kiss, giving her a bit of what she wanted by opening his own mouth, licking against her, but he held her fast to prevent any additional squirming.

Petulant as a child, Nore pouted and pulled away. “I wanted more…”

And then halfheartedly remembering herself…

“Sir.”

Tom merely smiled at his employee, running loving hands down her previously frantic arms and sides, and then promptly denied her.

_“No,_ Leonore.”

How many times she wished to hear that phrase during any of her other jobs!

Tom moved away from her just far enough to turn off the light he’d used for reading, and then snuggled in close to her, urging her down into a sleeping position under the covers.

“We sleep now, darling.”

And without another word, he curled his body protectively against hers, gathering her diamond-clad hand in his own and tucking them both against the uncomfortable heat between Leonore’s legs for the duration.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonore is summoned after a quiet period of time away from Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I don't know for sure where this is gonna end up, folks. But it's an interesting ride…  
> More smut, because hey, I love it.
> 
> Leave me some love. I appreciate ALL of you.
> 
> P.S. There's some SERIOUS Crimson Peak spoilers in this chapter, so read at your own risk.

“I’ll need that back, darling.”

Leonore stopped in the doorway of the hotel suite, turning to look at a still sleepy, disheveled Tom staring down at her hand.

The ring.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Hiddleston,” she smiled politely, stepping back into the room and working the gem off her finger. Wearing it all night made her forget its existence on her hand.

When she awoke moments ago, the ring was sandwiched between her thighs, Tom’s own palm atop her knuckles, in the same position harking back to when sleep took them hours before. The fit of the jewelry was quite snug, even for her tiny hands, and she marveled at how _quickly_ Tom must’ve procured the ring after receiving her information – including ring size – no more than an hour before actually meeting her.

Holding out his hand and beckoning Nore closer, Tom gave her an indulgent grin, as if she were a particularly well-behaved child, deserving positive reinforcement for her good choice.

“Thank you, Leonore,” Tom said quietly as the diamond fell into his large palm. “I do apologize for having to run you out like this…” he started, explaining away his sudden dismissal of Nore’s services.

She beat him to it. This was something at which she was _excellent._

“It’s no problem, sir. I’m otherwise engaged this afternoon and need to be on my way.”

Nore could swear, for just the _teensiest_ second, that a shadow passed over Hiddleston’s face at her response. It came and went so fleetingly that, as soon as it happened, she already felt as though she’d imagined it.

Tightening the belt on her coat and praying that she looked presentable enough to sneak out of the Mandarin Oriental to hail a cab, Leonore did something that was rote for her: she thanked her employer for the lovely time. Gracious thankfulness was standard operating procedure; however, this time, she actually meant it. Never had she been so utterly satisfied and exhausted from a job. She felt she’d earned her pay and received a bonus, all from the same experience.

“I enjoyed and appreciated you _immensely,_ Leonore,” Tom answered, ushering her once more to the door of the suite. “And please keep your phone on, darling. I think it’s safe to say that my contract with you will continue.”

With a wink and a kiss on her cheek, Tom Hiddleston shooed Nore into the plush carpet of the hallway, closing the door quietly behind her.

She would hear nothing from him for the next two weeks.

 

 

_**Have an overnight bag packed and be at Heathrow in 25 minutes. DO NOT be late.** _

The message blared to life on Nore’s phone, waking her from a deep sleep exactly fourteen days after her first visit with Tom.

Blearly-eyed and somewhat confused, Leonore had to get her bearings and figure out what was happening before she had the presence of mind to scramble off the bed and tear the cellophane from her freshly dry-cleaned, belted coat.

**_Black again, please._ **

It was like he knew what she was doing exactly _when_ she was doing it.

Leonore was anxious at the thought of finally seeing Tom again – her recent work activities had been much less satisfactory and much more trying on her patience, her gag reflex, and her knees. His fortnight of silence concerned her, and she caught herself moping a few times, wondering if _the_ Tom Hiddleston would ever contact her again – despite his affirmation to her as she left the Mandarin all those days ago.

_**Pack the black because the flight is rather long. Text me when you arrive and I’ll send your gate information. Please wear comfortable clothes and do your best to sleep on the plane.** _

She wanted to send a text in response, letting Tom know she’d received his messages, or simply to say something sweet and flirtatious. But if Nore was honest with herself, she was afraid of mucking up the situation. He’d specifically said to text when she arrived at the airport – _nothing else_ – and she wanted to live up to Mr. W’s impossibly high standard of being “exactly what the client wants”. After all, hadn’t she been… _richly rewarded_ by Tom for following his instructions to the letter?

So she packed.

She dressed comfortably.

She hailed a cab and rode, anxiously, to Heathrow.

 

 

_**Here, sir.** _

Despite it being 3:47 am her time, Tom seemed to be wide awake and part of the living world; Nore deduced a significant time change was in play.

_**My good Leonore. British Airways flight #BA0031. Terminal 2.** _

_**Give the airline check-in agent your name and photo ID and they’ll see you through.** _

She made her way as calmly as possible to the British Airways kiosks and handed over her passport; inside, she was all energy. Anxious as to her destination. Nervous at the prospect of seeing Tom again. Already becoming aroused remembering all the activities of their last meeting…

The woman behind the counter gave her a rather large smile, her voice exceptionally cheery: this was the mark of someone who’d been given explicit instructions to treat Leonore as a _very important person._

“Here you are, Miss,” said the agent, returning Leonore’s passport. “We’ve been instructed to send you through priority customs and security.” She indicated a side entrance to the terminals that would allow Nore to skip the officiousness of airline security. “Enjoy your trip to Hong Kong!”

Leonore’s stomach dropped.

Hong Kong was almost a twelve-hour flight from London.

That was a long time for a nervous, becoming-increasingly-more-aroused woman to flit through the sky. She hadn’t even packed anything to divert her attention.

_**Get rest on the plane, my sweet Leonore. You’re going to need it.** _

She could do that, then.

 

 

The gods saw fit to reward Leonore for her efficiency and obedience to Tom two hours into the flight, when she situated herself comfortably against the window and promptly dropped off to sleep.

She knew she would have to thank her employer for shelling out for a first-class ticket, and Nore had several ideas as to how her thanks could be expressed.

Many of her “jobs” tried to lavish her with expensive dinners, outrageous clothing, trinkets and trophies that seemed desperate to establish something _special._ She felt nothing for these trifles. They were simply the wampum for which she bartered her services.

All it took was Tom Hiddleston giving Leonore a few hours of sleep in a luxury Boeing 777 cabin to ensnare her heart.

Even the emerald-cut diamond ring wasn’t as good as this: the quiet, undisturbed rest of the upper crust.

And undisturbed it was, because Nore ended up snoozing for well over five hours. When she awoke, she had access to spring water, a warm towel to dab on her face and neck, and a delectable, early lunch of spring rolls, a steamed stir-fry, and orange chicken. She ate with gusto.

The woman seated next to her gave Nore a bitchy side-eye for finishing all of her food, and from the looks of her, Leonore decided this woman had an aversion to eating and all the good things life had to offer. Nore simply smiled to herself, laughing silently at the irony of the situation.

There sat someone who seemed, from her laptop’s documents laid out on the screen, to be a high-ranking CEO of a prominent company. She looked haggard and unhappy. Leonore, on the other hand, was an outrageously expensive escort who spent her time attending to people for money, and she was able to eat what she wanted, could sleep as much as her body dictated, and with luck, Tom Hiddleston would be plowing her into next week in a matter of hours.

She almost high-fived herself; she decided better of it and elected to watch a film or two for the remainder of her sojourn to Hong Kong.

 

 

_Unbelievable_ , she thought to herself.

She’d been called halfway ‘round the world on a whim. On the needs of a dangerously seductive, outrageously handsome man.

The film of choice couldn’t have been anything other than what Leonore chose – she’d missed it in theatres and had been (no pun intended) dying to see it.

_Crimson Peak._

What better way to celebrate being summoned to Tom Hiddleston other than watching Tom Hiddleston do what Tom Hiddleston does best?

CEO woman scoffed loudly beside Nore, who heard the businesswoman say “better things to do with my time” as she put the headphones to her ears and started the film. Leonore simply smiled indulgently at the woman’s acid demeanour.

As it turned out, CEO woman definitely didn’t have better things to do with her time once the movie began.

And by the time Thomas Sharpe’s bare ass began thrusting against his new bride, malnourished CEO was practically pressed against the screen.

Leonore was too enthralled by the sets and costuming to pay her much attention.

The film twisted into darker, more perverse territory in the final act, and Nore found herself rooting for young Edith Cushing, knowing that the newly married woman was about to discover some truly terrifying secrets about Allerdale Hall and the Sharpe siblings. What they were, Leonore couldn’t say. But typically, anything hush-hush about a brother and sister involved…

_There it was._

CEO woman gasped audibly, embarrassing herself. Nore could do nothing but lick her lips, swallowing thickly as she watched the scene unfold: Thomas Sharpe worked his delicate mouth against the ghostly white skin of his sister’s neck. Lucille’s hand, all the while, busied itself in her brother’s trousers.

The wicked eroticism of the entire scene – especially the pleasure etched on Thomas’ face – had Nore clenching her thighs together, desperately willing the minutes forward until she would see her client. She had felt that very mouth on her, had welcomed the eyes and body of the very same man on the screen. Leonore needed all of those things.

Now.

 

 

_**Send me a message when you’ve landed, Leonore. And please change.** _

Her fingers couldn’t tap the screen fast enough.

_**Here, sir.** _

Nore tapped her foot against the plane’s flooring, biting her lip and fretting at how excruciatingly long it was taking for the people in front of her to disembark. She felt like a caged animal: rested, fed and watered, sufficiently aroused and ready to strike.

_**My man in the main concourse will be looking for you. Best be wearing the belted coat, my love.** _

She would have been exasperated at Tom’s request – it meant she’d have to detour to a restroom and change from her clothes into a new set of black lingerie under her coat – had she not been so overjoyed at the idea she was minutes away from him. After hearing nothing for fourteen days, after an interminably dull flight…

Visions of her employer having her on the bed, against the wall, and pressed to the furniture danced in front of her eyes as Nore finally freed herself from the aircraft and headed into the airport in search of the nearest women’s room. Finding one easily, Leonore locked herself in a stall and tore off her clothes, stuffing them with little care into her bag. Two little black slips of fabric replaced her previous outfit, and her coat was buttoned and cinched in record time. A glance in the restroom mirrors as she fled the stall stole a gasp from Nore’s mouth: she looked… _relaxed_ , if not in a hurry. Well-rested with a flush of anticipation splashed against her caramel skin. Her hair begged for a man’s fingers to tangle in it; her lips pouted in hope of kisses and, perhaps, some brandy…

_**Are you close, Leonore?** **I’m getting impatient.** _

_He_ was impatient?

_He didn’t have to wait two weeks for this, or sit on a plane for half a day next to CEO McBitcherson,_ grumbled Leonore as she finally, blessedly made her way to the main terminal where transportation was arriving and departing from the main concourse.

_**Almost leaving the concourse, Mr. Hiddleston.** _

It was hard for her to text and pay attention to her surroundings, so for a few moments Nore wasn’t aware of the gentleman with the sign immediately across the floor from her. But after a few seconds of wild searching, her eyes lit upon the gentleman’s sign.

**MINA HARKER**

The reference was clearly an allusion to _Dracula._ Leonore smiled at the subtly clever gesture, and waved to the gentleman as she approached. He gifted her with a warm smile when she was within earshot.

“Miss Leonore, I presume?”

He offered to shoulder Nore’s bag but she refused politely, shaking his hand instead and following him out of the crowded cacophony.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Her good mood bolstered immediately by the knowledge she was on her way – directly – to her employer, Leonore tapped out an additional text once the driver had her safely ensconced in his luxury vehicle.

_**Clever sign, Jonathan.** _

A beat, then Tom’s response.

_**Looking forward to our visit, Leonore.** _

She smiled, warmth suffusing her mostly-bare body under the coat. The driver kept to himself, cautiously driving amongst the lunch-hour traffic currently clogging the roadways of the island. Leonore didn’t care that she was technically on her way to “work”. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she was excited to see her client after a significant amount of time away from him. Feeling slightly high at the impending meeting, she elected to begin her seduction via mobile.

_**I was able to watch Crimson Peak on my flight, sir.** _

Leonore had been around enough important clients in her career to know that stroking the ego could only lead to productive things. And there was _one_ thing she desperately wanted to be stroking…

_**And? What did my lovely woman think?** _

She could very well have babbled on about the film and Tom’s performance for hours, but she kept coy, cryptic.

_**I’m rather addicted to Sir Sharpe now, I’m afraid.** _

The message status read “delivered” for quite some time, and as the seconds ticked away, Nore became nervous at her brazed declaration. Sure, it was one thing to flirt with a client, to make him think he held a special place in her heart. However, she’d all but admitted to a sort of obsession. She was sure Tom was astute enough to know that said obsession most likely transferred onto him as an actual person, instead of a film characterization.

“We’re about ten minutes out, Miss,” spoke the driver over the din of car horns and bus brakes. Leonore look up into the mirror, catching the chauffeur’s eye and nodding pleasantly.

The message status remained at “delivered” throughout the remainder of the route, even as the car arrived at its destination: the Four Seasons.

Nore thanked the driver, absconded from the car with her bag, and cinched and re-cinched her coat in the lobby of the hotel before the message status blinked to “read”.

_**Sixteenth floor. Room number 1622.** _

She wasn’t quick enough for him; the lifts were all quite busy and she let one go in favor of a crowded jumble of businessmen.

_How can this be happening right this second, at just the moment I’m meant to see him again?_

In a different set of circumstances, Leonore would have relished the wait; sometimes, traveling to a job destination filled her with loathing and despair. The money was always most welcome; W’s praise was always effusive after the fact. But certain clients made Nore’s skin crawl, and she would always procrastinate, giving herself precious additional seconds to stave off the inevitability of her fate. The impatience she felt startled her, but not before she found herself barging through a stairwell to hike sixteen floors up in search of her employer.

Thank god for the yoga.

 

 

She saw the pleasure in Tom’s eyes immediately disappear in favor of immense concern, as soon as he opened the suite door.

“Darling, you’re flushed. What’s happened?”

Her swept her inside the hotel room, grabbing her bag and tossing it carelessly onto the foyer floor.

Within seconds, she’d been stripped of her coat and stood before her sinfully delicious client, clad only in the barest black lingerie and sky-high heels. Words failed her momentarily; she was distracted once more by his immense beauty, by the fact he’d disrobed her so quickly, and by the pounding of her I-only-do-yoga-not-cardio heart.

“I…took…the stairs,” she breathed, a shy smile creeping onto her face which had a slight glow of sweat.

He hauled her to him possessively, laughing. The delighted, dark sound made her stomach flip.

“Desperate to get to me, Leonore?”

All she could do was nod, her hands instinctively reaching to take purchase in his hair.

He stopped her.

“Hold out your left hand, darling.”

Something within Nore knew what would happen next.

Back came the diamond ring, sliding effortlessly onto her finger. She watched as the shimmering stone traversed the length of her digit, licking her lips.

“There, now. Give us a kiss.”

An obedient employee is a paid employee, and Nore had never wanted to earn her keep so badly. She flung herself at Tom, kissing him mightily and still panting for the breath lost to her on the stairs. She hadn’t noticed him removing her bra and untying the ribbons at her hips holding up her panties until the chilled air of the suite enveloped her nudity. When she gave an involuntary shiver, Tom hauled her bodily into his arms, encouraging her to wrap her arms and legs around him.

“I _had_ to see you, Leonore,” he whispered feverishly into her ear as he carried her into the expansive living room. “I’m filming and working myself to the bone and all I can think of is you. Your lips, your eyes…your delicious body welcoming me _over and over again_ …”

Tom deposited her gently on the long divan, standing before her in all his glorious height.

“It’s my pleasure to serve you, sir,” she purred.

He leered at her suggestively, taking her left hand in his own and motioning for Nore to get to her knees on the carpeted floor. His thumb involuntarily traced the rectangular shape of the diamond.

“You’re going to suck my cock, right now.”

A groan fell from Nore’s lips.

“Yes, Tom.”

Her hands were on his trousers, unzipping his fly and eagerly taking him out, hot and hard in her trembling hands.

“Oh, _‘Tom’,_ is it, Leonore? Do you like doing this?”

She elected not to answer but instead took his member into her mouth, working him swiftly yet skillfully to the back of her throat. He swore, rudely, and grasped her delicate hands in his enormous grip. The sound electrified her, and Leonore ripped her hands from his grasp to tear his trousers the rest of the way down his legs, then to splay atop the firm, smooth muscles of his behind.

She was suddenly ravenous.

Giving head, in Nore’s world, was as good as currency. It got her things. Sometimes, it got her _out_ of things. There was always a specific reason behind her doing it.

Her reason right now was nothing more than a primal need to have Tom Hiddleston in her mouth.

He met her enthusiasm with his own, plowing his hips into her face and twining strong hands into her dark mane, twisting the strands around his fingers in immense pleasure. She wanted to record the noises that came from his mouth.

Nore’s record time, noted proudly at times by Mr. W to her…colleagues…was _two_ minutes. No one knew how she did it, and the record was spoken of with amused reverence in her working circles.

Tom Hiddleston only lasted one minute and fifty seconds, but Leonore hadn’t counted. She was as immersed in the experience as he. And when he exploded, heat and salty spurts pouring down her throat, she surprised herself by feeling something similar to the satisfaction he must’ve experienced.

Were her ears playing tricks on her, though? Leonore would swear, at a later time looking back, that as he came, Tom mumbled something with the word _“wife”_ in it.Impetuousness during their time together caused her to ignore it.

Dropping to his knees, hazy with the relaxed pleasure of release, Tom gathered Nore into his arms and rested with her against him, both propped on the floor against the divan. She pressed herself to him, rubbing up against his half-clothed body and savoring his warmth and his scent – how she had missed the _smell_ of him.

Her growling stomach broke their shared trance.

“Oh, Leonore, where are my manners? You must be famished.”

Tom gathered her into his arms even more closely, rocking her for a precious second before kissing her lips voraciously. He lifted her up easily from the floor, and then laughed at himself when he realized his trousers were pooled around his ankles.

“Let me help you, Tom,” Nore offered. She slid her left hand down the outside of Tom’s right thigh, and he captured it in his own as she helped him out of the bottom half of his clothing. Leonore then quickly whipped off Tom’s shirt, wanting him to be just as bare and vulnerable as she in that moment.

“Thank you, darling. Shall we?” He nodded to something Leonore hadn’t noticed upon her arrival: there was an entire spread of food waiting in the dining area.

Tom grasped her left hand, wrapping his free arm around her generous waist, and accompanied her to the waiting meal.

In her years of work, during countless opportunities at banquets, dinners, receptions, _funerals_ …not one client ever offered a morsel of food to Leonore from his – or her – own hands.

Tom Hiddleston proceeded to nourish his employee, hand to mouth, for an hour and a half.

To be fair, Nore enjoyed food as much as the next person, sometimes more so, as was evident on British Airways earlier that day. But she’d never had food _plus_ a naked Tom Hiddleston in the same scenario.

The Armagnac had been a teaser, then.

She was expected, after each bite, to let Tom kiss or touch her in some way. He established this rule whilst having her sit daintily atop the large dining table present in the suite. If he thought he was the only one who would derive pleasure from such a rule, Leonore knew he was mistaken.

So she found herself, at the end of the meal, extremely full and overwhelmingly aroused. She wanted to rest; she wanted to fuck. Tom could see the conflict in her eyes, mirth shining in his own. He’d eaten bits and pieces of the meal and wasn’t as uncomfortably full as she, so he took the lead once more.

“Is my Leonore sated?” he asked, a light touch of his hand skimming across the slightly rounded skin of Nore’s abdomen. He next traced the curved fullness of her heavy breasts, free from clothing. Tom then looked her up and down before staying his eyes on her face, expecting an answer. As he waited, he brought her hand up to his mouth and licked his tongue in the webbing between each of her fingers. He kissed her ring, additionally, for good measure. Her head lolled to one side coquettishly before she pulled him to her, bringing him between her legs in her seated position atop the furniture.

_“Partially,_ Mr. Hiddleston.”

“And what can I do about that, sweet Leonore?” he bantered back to her, dropping kiss after kiss to the top of her head. She tilted her face back so he would capture her lips with his own. He moaned delightedly when his tongue caught the droplet of plum sauce that clung to her bottom lip.

“You’re _awfully_ helpful for someone who’s paying for _my_ services,” she murmured, breathily returning her mouth to his divine lips.

_Those lips house the sexiest voice of all mankind,_ she mused.

“What if I told you I live to serve, darling?” His mouth slid to Nore’s neck just as his right hand found her wet sex, a tiny pool of her desire already gathering onto the cherry wood between her thighs. “That I’ve… _promised myself_ to you…”

He ended the statement with a forceful thrust of his fingers into Leonore’s pussy, causing her to gasp in elation. Tom’s mouth never strayed from the sensitive skin of her neck. When his thumb found her clit, the tiny bud peeking out from between her puffy pink folds, her legs widened of their own accord and she braced her right hand behind her against the table, fingers splayed.

“I’m devoting myself to your satisfaction, Leonore, just as you’ve done for me,” he breathed, punctuating every few words with a lick to her salty skin. His fingers began a lazy push-pull movement inside of her and she moaned his name heartily.

“Yes, darling. _Excellent.”_

Each rotation of Tom’s gentle thumb against Nore’s slick pearl was matched by his plunging fingers, his swirling tongue and hot mouth on some part of her upper body. He razed his teeth against her collarbones. He sucked at her nipples. He licked fiery trails up the sides of her neck, stopping only to nip playfully at her earlobes.

The needs Leonore required to orgasm could at times be varied. More often than not, she couldn’t manage a climax on the job but relied on skillful fakery. Most clients couldn’t tell the difference, and if they did, they simply didn’t care whether she’d taken her pleasure or not. So it was with great surprise that Leonore came, _hard,_ when Tom continued his ministrations, leaning devilishly close to her ear to say, in hot, breathy language:

“You’re my _good girl_ , yes you are…almost six thousand miles just so I could _fuck your mouth…yes,_ Leonore, come darling…so I can _finger fuck you_ on this table…this _divine cunt_ …”

She screamed his name.

That was new.

 

 

If she was hoping for a luxurious, long-winded stay in Hong Kong, Nore was disappointed. But after she’d come down from her euphoric turn atop the dining table, she recalled Tom insisting she only pack an overnight bag.

So, not a long stay.

The thought made her strangely sad, a feeling foreign to her during working hours.

Well, that wasn’t true. She’d been sad _plenty_ of times at work. But for different reasons. _Harsher_ reasons.

Tom picked up on the sadness as soon as he saw it. As if he could _feel_ it. He kissed her ring. More kisses followed, all of them on more usual places.

“Would you like to make love, Leonore, before I have to go?” He brushed the hair off of her shoulders and picked her up from the table, striding to the bedroom with Nore wrapped possessively around him. She nodded solemnly, the gesture…girlish. Innocent.

“Making love” wasn’t really a term bandied about in Leonore’s job. Mr. W routinely laughed at new hires who used the phrase, urging them to change their frame of reference and see the act for what it was. A transaction. A business arrangement. A deception, a secret, a tryst, a tease. A _fuck._ People who hired Nore weren’t creating any “love” – they were taking their guilt, or their frustration, or their anger out on her. If anything, the glaring absence of love defined what she did.

But leave it to Tom Hiddleston to change the outlook.

The term “Disney prince” flitted through her brain, but she scoffed it away.

_A Disney prince and a hired call girl. Yeah right._

Tom may have been on borrowed time, but with the thirty minutes he had remaining in his schedule for Leonore, he managed to spread her out in the comfort of his bed and pay considerable attention to all her heavenly parts.

He folded her lovingly into no less than three close-knit positions, ones that he seemed to choose based on their high percentage of skin-to-skin contact between participating parties. She was origami paper in his hands: malleable, smooth, sleek.

His talents brought her near to release several times, teasing her with the promise of completion and then staving it off, until she was mindlessly wanton and frustrated.

It was only through his unique request that she would be able to climax.

“Look into my eyes, Leonore, and _proclaim your love for me_. Use my name. My _full name_.”

Nore’s hands clasped within Tom’s own, she cried of love, and the seven syllables of his given name in a broken prayer, and he granted her the sobbing orgasm she craved. His own followed Leonore’s, as soon as his moniker rasped from her mouth. Her time was up much too quickly.

 

 

He dressed her with reverence.

He belted her coat to a comfortable notch.

“Not too tight, my darling?”

Her sad smile accompanied the word “no”.

Tom went so far as to dig through her bag, taking out her hairbrush and working her disarrayed mane into long, straight lines. He spoke to her in hushed tones of safe travels, of a car that would bring her home once back in London.

Tidying up her bag, ever chivalrous, Tom led Nore to the door, kissing her cheeks, hands…anything he could get hold of. And in the last second before they parted, similarly to their first dalliance, Tom suddenly remembered the ring. She would have walked off with it – again – so preoccupied was she with her sorrow.

Nore dropped it unwillingly into his outstretched palm, watching the sophisticated curl of his fingers around the winking diamond. She realized she no longer loved the ring because of its worth, but because of its _emotional_ significance.

It was as though wearing the stone transformed her into the love of Tom Hiddleston’s life.

 

 

_Crying on a twelve-hour flight to London is most unbecoming,_ she scolded herself.

That didn’t mean she stopped.


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Leonore's emotional attachment deepens, things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there! The penultimate chapter…these two are giving me major feelings. Can't wait for everyone to read the last chapter. Hope you like.
> 
> Message me! I love hearing from my readers.
> 
> xoxo

“We only spoke for a minute or two; he was quite busy, I assure you,” explained Mr. W.

Leonore had been summoned to W’s office once more, for what she thought was discussion of a new contract. A secret part of her was dismayed at the prospect of having more than one client to her name simultaneously. It wasn’t that the _concept_ was unusual…it was that, if Nore was honest with herself, she didn’t want to be involved with anyone else while she attended to Tom Hiddleston. She _felt…unfaithful._

Even the act of considering entering another agreement with someone else made her feel guilty, wrong. Although Tom’s NDA and _The Terms_ didn’t mention anything about Nore’s involvement with other people, she still felt, in her heart, that it would be horrible of her to pursue other avenues, even in the name of work.

She didn’t want to.

What’s more, her stomach and heart both clenched at the thought of Tom with someone else. She couldn’t bear to think of that, either.

W would have her head if he knew how attached she’d become – and how _quickly._

But she needn’t have worried about any of that, because W immediately explained to her that Tom was the reason he’d called her there. He wasted no time, being his usual blunt self.

“Hiddleston has elected to end your contract.”

He made a show of tearing up the file containing Tom’s legal documents with Leonore’s initials and signatures all over them.

Her mouth worked for a moment, no sound coming out. She was too busy trying to assuage the punched-gut feeling overtaking her.

“As I said, his phone call to me was brief, and he simply asked that I destroy the paperwork and consider your relationship dissolved.”

Still she struggled to form words. The only reaction noticeable to Mr. W was the crease in Nore’s brow as she took some deep breaths.

“I’ve gone ahead and taken the liberty of lining up your next client…seems the Prime Minister has a fellow in his Cabinet who’s in need of some…diversion…”

“Why did Mr. Hiddleston end the contract?” Nore asked, trying to keep her breathing even and attempting a nonchalant interest in the situation. She knew W would hesitate to keep giving her high-ranking jobs if he found out how emotionally compromised she was. W’s mobile rang at that moment, and he glanced at the display, his body language indicating he needed to take the call. He motioned for Nore to leave, but not before answering her question.

“He said there were issues with one of the parties abiding the contract.”

Leonore stood and gathered her things, heading to the door as she asked, "Me?”

W waved his hand at her to scuttle her out the door. “No. Him.”

Mr. W then began speaking heatedly into his phone as he gave Leonore one last look, tossing a small legal envelope across his desk to her. She caught it, barely, before fumbling for the doorknob and exiting the office. As soon as the door closed behind her, she pressed her back to the wall in the main hallway of the office complex, bracing herself as best she could so her knees wouldn’t give out. She looked down at the long, thin envelope in her shaking hands.

**Attn: Leonore S.**

**c/o Mr. A. W.**

There was only a small lump in the envelope, as far as Nore could tell without opening it.

 _It can’t be money,_ she deduced.

And then, as if struck by lightning, she figured it out: in a matter of seconds, she had the seal of the envelope torn open and was digging her tiny fingers inside to fish out the contents.

The ground rushed up to meet Nore as she retrieved a tiny, white gold ring with an emerald-cut diamond set in its prongs.

 

 

**Five Days Earlier**

Leonore thought that not seeing her employer for fourteen days was bad.

She was _quite_ mistaken.

As it turned out, after their brief but heated time together in Hong Kong, Tom didn’t contact her for an entire month – to the day – of their last dalliance.

Nore had no other contracts lined up and was worried that something was amiss. After all, hadn’t Tom seemed to enjoy their time together? Was she wrong in feeling genuinely compatible with him? W would throttle her for feeling so vulnerable about a person who was only supposed to mean something to Nore on paper.

Tom was only supposed to mean financial security.

His paperwork specified one of the largest payouts Nore had ever seen: what more could she have wanted?

She wanted Tom Hiddleston – _all the time._

In her line of work, that was an impossibility. And by the twenty-ninth day of radio silence from the actor, Leonore was stewing something awful as to why she hadn’t heard from her (admittedly) favorite client. So she did what any desperate, obsessed woman would do: she Googled him. Cleared her afternoon calendar of gym and spa time, flopped on her couch, and sank into an internet stupor.

A good idea, and a bad one.

It turned out to be a good idea, because Leonore discovered, thanks to some reliable fan information, that Tom was in the midst of a grueling film schedule – in London, no less. That was good news. He wasn’t a twelve-hour flight away.

The bad was that there seemed to be no end in sight to Hiddleston’s working obligations.

 _If only his work entailed the same objectives as mine,_ she mused to herself as she clicked through some recent paparazzi photos of Tom leaving set. He looked gorgeous as ever, but extremely tired. The lines on his face were plainly visible, and his normally-smiling eyes weren’t as mirthful as she’d been fortunate enough to see in times past.

Leonore found herself wanting to take care of him, wanting to comfort him and praise him for working so hard. Although she’d had one or two contracts during her tenure that specified this type of behaviour – playing wife or caretaker while a client got to live out his fantasies of being helpless (hopeless) and catered to – Nore didn’t need a contract to feel the urge to do these things for Tom.

She spent the rest of the afternoon lost in photos of him, drinking in that profile and clothed body that she now knew so well. It was a wonderful secret to have, in many ways, sharing intimate knowledge of one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, but it was also a terrible burden.

Nore was afraid she might love him. And she wanted people to know.

Of course, that’s why God made non-disclosure agreements.

Frustration at a high, Leonore ordered her favorite Chinese takeaway and retired to her spacious bathroom to draw herself a bubble bath.

 

 

Belly full and body resembling a wrinkly prune, Leonore scrolled mindlessly through her phone contacts, wondering who she could talk to during the dinner hour on a weeknight. With each swipe of her finger on the screen, she felt her eyelids getting heavier. The warmth of the water and the eggrolls were going to send her to bed much earlier than normal.

Tom’s number flashed onto her screen suddenly, interrupting her deliberations.

She almost dropped the mobile into the bath.

_Shit. Shit, shit shit!_

Nore couldn’t press the green _Accept_ button fast enough.

“Hello, sir.”

She tried for sexy and demure but she just knew he would be able to hear the desperate hopefulness in her voice.

“Leonore, darling, I don’t have much time.”

Tom sounded very rushed, and as though he was trying to keep his voice down in a crowded room so no one could hear. He continued, moving away from whatever noise he was near.

“I’m on set and I know it’s not 24 hours notice _again_ like I specified in that bloody contract but I’ve sent a driver to your home and I need you here, darling, even if it’s just for ten minutes which may be all I’ve –”

She cut him off. “I’ll be there sir.”

His last words, breathed in relief before he hung up the phone, warmed her entire body.

“Navy, please.”

Leonore threw the phone onto the bathmat and launched herself out of the tub, not caring that a generous trail of water now coated the tile of her bathroom floor. She haphazardly toweled herself off, throwing the linen onto the floor as she tore into her lingerie collection, picking through the various offerings of white, red, and myriad others until she located colors of a darker nature.

In her haste to find what she needed she confused many black garments for navy blue and, cursing vividly, had to turn on several lights in her bedroom so as to discern one shade from another. She went all out with her choices.

Stockings.

Suspenders.

A scrap of silk covering her sex.

Merrywidow.

 

 

She barely remembered to lock the door after she flew down the stairs clutching her bag in one hand and trying to buckle the belt of her coat.

Leonore had never been so happy to see an almost-stranger at her door. It was Reese.

“Evening, ma’am.”

“Hello to you, Reese. I’m ready,” she declared, the words rushing out just as fervently as was her desire to get in the car.

He held the door open for her, ushering her into the backseat without saying another word when he noticed she was totally zoned out, in her own world. Reese hadn’t worked for Tom Hiddleston long, but he could put two and two together and didn’t need to ask questions.

It’s not like anyone would answer them, anyway.

When both of Tom’s employees were safely established in the car, the Jaguar made its efficient trip to set in no more than a handful of minutes.

 

 

Leonore always appreciated clients who approached her in a respectful yet no-nonsense manner. They weren’t hiding behind an artifice about what her involvement meant, but they didn’t make a point of spotlighting it, either. Tom wasn’t any different in this regard. Although she knew she had serious feelings for her employer, she still appreciated the relative ease and secrecy with which she was spirited through the on-set security by a PA and taken to Tom’s trailer.

The young lady escorting Nore was polite but distant, opting not to learn Nore’s name or ask any questions. She’d either been briefed on the situation (doubtful) or had been given no information at all except for a directive to escort one of Mr. Hiddleston’s guests to his location during a short break in the proceedings of the day.

Leonore held her coat closed, feeling self-conscious at the sheer number of people who were milling about. There could be many, many potentially interested parties here, and she didn’t want to jeopardize her arrangement with Tom. So she held her head high, much as she would have done in a five-star hotel or at a prestigious awards gathering, and focused only on the end game.

Tom.

With a fast double-knock on the trailer in front of her, the PA turned and smiled uncaringly at Nore and turned on her heel as soon as the trailer door opened.

Leonore found herself hauled inside, the door of the trailer slamming harshly behind her. Her gorgeous Tom – _no,_ not _hers_ – gathered her to him, crowding her space and infusing her with warmth.

“God, you beautiful woman…kiss me now before I go _mad_ ,” her employer pleaded as he wrapped long arms around Nore, tangling one hand in the belt at her waist to divest her of her coat. She pressed her lips to his with abandon, her arms automatically going around Tom’s neck as he worked her coat open, groaning when he saw what was on display underneath.

“Oh, my _good_ Leonore. Lovely,” he threw her coat to the floor, swiftly moving his hands back to her person to undo the stays of her suspenders, then stripping her quickly of the intricate merrywidow. “I’m so sorry my darling, but I have desperate need of you right now and I haven’t much time.”

Nore was elated by the lust and desperation in his eyes, despite his face full of harsh makeup and his odd costume.

“Anything you like, _Tom,”_ she responded in a low voice, carefully peeling his trousers down and making sure she didn’t muss him in any way.

He licked his lips and groaned audibly at her immediate use of his first name.

“Such a sweet girl to let me know she likes me.” Tom grabbed her quite roughly and hauled Leonore against him as he made his way to the small sofa taking up one side of his trailer. Swiftly, he positioned her atop him, his trousers pooled at his feet, and yanked her underwear aside as he sheathed himself fully inside her with one devastating stroke.

Nore hissed in painful pleasure, leaning forward to bite Tom’s neck, soothing the red marks with the tip of her tongue. The first jolt of his cock within her sex set her to moaning his name quietly as he urged her up and down in an immediate, frantic pace. He was breathing harshly, her name rolling off of his lips continually in a sensual growl.

It took her a few seconds to think of something important that was…missing.

“What about… _ohh_ …the ring…?” she queried as Tom braced her against him, one arm pushing down on her shoulder for leverage as the other curled around her hip in a possessive grip.

He shook his head as if to brush the idea aside, urging Leonore to move faster on his throbbing length.

“I can’t stop, Leonore…too _good…I can’t…stop with you_ …”

She had never seen a client of hers look so needy before…almost to the point of pain. Tom tried to be everywhere at once, latching onto her breast, then her neck, and then back to her other breast. He ducked his head to bite gently at her curvy little sides, digging fingers into her bottom as she continued her sweet slide atop his cock.

Her hands and mouth behaved in much the same way. She ran delicate hands through his hair in a careful manner, stopping only to lick his neck and taste his mouth. She raked her nails down the musculature of his abdomen.

When he gave her an evil glare and flicked his tongue out in a gesture that seemed to challenge her, Leonore leaned back to cup his balls, gently rolling and teasing. His resulting moan of her name had a fresh wave of her honey coating him.

He noticed.

“That’s _good,_ Leonore,” he purred, one hand splaying now on the small of her back as she continued to lean backwards a bit, still fondling his sac with a gleam in her eyes. “All of that slick honey is _mine…”_

She was getting dangerously close, with an impending climax that threatened to tear the voice from her throat, the breath from her lungs. But there were _people_ _just outside_.

And then someone knocked harshly on the trailer door, startling the employee and her client.

“Two minutes, Tom!”

He’d frozen for only a fraction of a second, but Nore could feel his pulse inside her swollen sex as he yelled out a _“thanks”_ to whomever had just given him the two-minute warning.

And just like that, all hell broke loose.

Flipping Leonore so she resided on her back against the couch with legs splayed wide, Tom drove himself into her with reckless abandon, slapping three of those divinely thin fingers against her clit and rubbing like a man determined to drown her in white-hot pleasure. She clenched, hard, at the overwhelming onslaught and began keening softly under her breath.

Things only got worse when Tom attached his mouth to her neck, just near her ear.

“You’re going to make me come so _hard,_ Leonore. My precious girl. I’ve been craving you for _weeks_ and couldn’t get away…”

Each thrust was now slamming up against Nore’s g-spot, and her breath stuttered with each rock of Tom’s hips. His hair was well and truly mussed, and the flush on his beautiful face made her want to cry, her need to possess him so strong. His brutal assault on her clit was already making her tear up, it felt so good.

Moving his mouth to her lips, Tom flicked his tongue out to trace her full pout before continuing to speak shakily to Nore in his divine voice.

“Legs on my shoulders, Leonore…”

She complied, throwing her head back and gasping prettily at the new angle.

“Is that deeper, my darling? _Yes…”_

Tom held one long arm across her thighs as his fingers continued to flutter against the slick pearl between her legs, delighting in the vision below him. Her hands were twisted in her own hair now, eyes closed tightly and teeth cutting into her lip at Tom’s body overwhelming her own.

“ _Look at me_!” he thundered, collapsing from his position above Nore to press bodily against her, his thrusts becoming wildly erratic and even sharper as he worked both of them to a shared peak.

She obeyed instantly, clasping her arms and legs around him as she began to shake, seeing his stomach muscles clenching rhythmically.

 _“Tom…”_ Leonore moaned, neck craning to reach for his mouth.

A final insistent press of his fingers against her, and Leonore’s back bowed, her muffled cries absorbed by Tom’s lips against her own as he panted harshly, his orgasm set off by hers. He was so overtaken that no words escaped him. His few additional, feeble thrusts drew out their pleasure as long as either could stand, and when he collapsed fully on top of Nore, his heartbeat echoed hers in a furious cadence.

Grasping Leonore’s face with trembling hands, Tom pressed a final, clinging kiss to her lips before pulling out and hurriedly readjusting his hair and costume. He watched her apologetically all the while.

Nore was content to observe Tom fidget with his trousers and shirt, and made no move to cover herself, feeling the evidence of Tom’s climax slowly seeping from between her thighs. Selfishly, she hoped the sight would entice him to stay.

Instead, he reached out for her left hand, kissing each knuckle before lingering at her ring finger, staring at her flushed face and chest.

“ _Thank you_ , love.”

When Nore tried to beckon him back to her, he shook his head vehemently, instinctively knowing that if he stayed with her a minute more his resolve to return to work would fade entirely.

All she could offer him was a halfhearted smile, crossing her arms over her chest and sitting up to fetch her underthings and coat.

“Anytime, Tom. The pleasure is all mine. How about a kiss for the road?”

She meant for _her,_ but he thought for _himself._

Shaking his head once more, Tom retreated toward the door, a sad expression on his face. He winked sweetly and was gone.

Leonore was left alone in the trailer, still feeling traces of Tom Hiddleston on and within her momentarily sated body. Her left ring finger felt emptier than ever, the phantom weight of the diamond pressing itself against her memory.

Little did she know that the ring would be hers in less than a week. A parting gift in exchange for a broken heart.

Or perhaps two broken hearts.


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The contract is over; however, Leonore has a final meeting with Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this. I'm so proud of it.  
> Let me know if you like, people!
> 
> Thanks for reading…xoxo

Nore found that, when the tears burned her eyes and threatened to spill over her lids, looking at the diamond winking on her right hand helped, if only momentarily.

She could look at her hand, at the elegant shape of her poison-apple coloured nails, at the expensive gem glinting on her finger, and pretend that she was somewhere else. That she was _with someone else._

She could imagine she wasn’t at this stuffy restaurant, surrounded by old-money politicos, with her client leering at her as he tried to impress upon her the importance of his position working with the PM.

She could pretend it was _Tom_ across the table from her, speaking in mellifluous tones about her beauty, and her body, and how she pleased him. How he would take her straight from this place to his bed. How he would take his time traversing the planes and peaks and valleys of her flesh.

But imagination only lasted so long, for Leonore had to look away from the ring at some point, especially when her “date” for the evening addressed yet another pointed question her way.

“That’s quite the lovely diamond you have there, Miss S.”

_My only connection to Tom. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever been given._

“Thank you,” was all Leonore offered the man. She was greedy with the significance of the ring, stingy even. She had no plans of sharing its meaning with this oversexed, underwhelming dolt.

“A family heirloom? A gift, perhaps?” the gentleman continued prodding.

Nore didn’t appreciate his continued wheedling; but, he had paid for her time and considerable attention this evening, so she needed to fulfill her end of their arrangement. She allowed a fake smile, masked as genuine flirtation, to grace her lips. Leaning closer across the table to appear fully invested in the senior member of David Cameron’s Cabinet, she answered in as coy a manner as was allowed.

“A _reminder,”_ she replied, fighting the bile rising in her throat. This man had no right to ask after the diamond, to inquire as to what it meant to her, or who’d given it to her, or what it had been used for.

But that was the rub – what was the ring’s purpose? What had it been used for? In the early stages of her association with Tom, it was an integral part of their time together, a ritual that was observed strictly and solemnly. Tom seemed to need it, to physically go through the act of wedding the ring to Leonore’s finger, before he was able to carry on with their charade.

Could it have been called a charade at the end? When Tom had called for her, needing her desperately enough to take her possessively during a fleeting break in his shooting schedule? When Nore asked after the ring and he was too frantic to have her to bother finding it? When she wanted a kiss after their shared deed was once more complete, for what would be their final time?

“A reminder, eh? Of what?” said the Secretary of State of Something or Other. She hadn’t paid attention either time whilst he blathered on about his title.

Raising an eyebrow to once again appear demurely interested, Leonore crafted yet another vague answer. “Of my position in this world.”

She could see the light bulb go on in the man’s head as he pieced together the makings of a lewd joke, most likely utilizing the word ‘position’. All she had to do now was pretend to find his response clever as he delivered, right on time.

“I bet you’ve many _positions_ in this world!” he guffawed grossly.

Nore smiled, placed fingertips to her chest to indicate pleasure at his clever retort, and faked a tiny laugh as the waiter blessedly interrupted them with chocolate torte and coffee.

“Thank you,” she smiled gratefully at the young man, silently entreating him to stay so she wouldn’t have to endure this man’s bravado and poor taste alone.

To no avail. The waiter left immediately to tend to other patrons across the dining room.

 _Might as well make this easy on myself,_ Nore ruminated as she began to absentmindedly trace her fingertip around the diamond covertly, moving her hands under the table where Mr. So and So couldn’t see.

“Please, _sir,_ I’d love for you to tell me more about the _exciting work_ you’re doing for the Prime Minister and the British government…”

That was all the blowhard needed: any excuse to expound upon his virtues and successes to anyone willing to listen. Leonore wasn’t exactly willing, but keeping the old man talking about himself would prevent him from being overly _…attentive…_ to her.

Her fakery bought her several minutes of daydreaming, even though the man across the table from her could detect no trace of inattention or ennui on his escort’s face. She had a practiced veneer of interest and pleasantry; it was one of the many things in which she excelled during less than pleasant points in her line of work.

In actuality, Leonore was darting her eyes every so often to a young, beautiful couple seated two tables behind Mr. Important Person. His back was to them, so he was none the wiser as to the true whereabouts of Nore’s attention. She stole long glances at them. The man seemed captivated by his partner – by his _wife,_ Nore assumed, seeing a diamond (not unlike the one she herself wore) sitting prettily on the woman’s left hand.

He listened intently when she spoke, and at one point he traced a gentle finger along the woman’s bottom lip to remove a trace of food she’d missed with the previous pass of her serviette. Their hands then intertwined amid the candles and cutlery on their table as they closed themselves off from the rest of the world, engrossed in their own conversation.

Is this what love looked like, from the outside? If people saw Leonore and Tom sharing a meal together, intimately ensconced in their own flirtations and conversation, would it look like this? Would he gift her with a bespoke ring, something brand new, to eradicate the “business” phase of their relationship? Would his fingers caress her bejeweled hand in reverence, softly staking his claim once and for all?

How she wished. It was foolish to daydream this way, with mountains of odds stacked against her:

Tom’s profession left little room for trust and fidelity.

She made her money and her name recreating and sleeping with numerous people.

He’d ended their contract, and not a further word was heard.

It had already been a week – _only_ _a week_ – but it felt like three years. One long, drawn-out year for every encounter she’d had with Hiddleston. Nore frowned at that fact, as she’d done many times recently. She ran the sentence through her mind until her chest was tight and tears threatened to appear once more: _he ended their contract._ Even more foolishly, she always allowed the tiniest smidgeon of hope to follow the phrase.

He’d ended the contract _because he couldn’t abide it._

What did that mean? He clearly had issues with giving her more than a moment’s notice to make herself available for him, but she certainly hadn’t minded. Even if Tom Hiddleston wasn’t paying her top dollar, she still would have cleared her schedule and dropped every last thing for him.

Was he disgusted with himself for paying for sex, for momentary companionship? Did he not want her anymore?

A client had never driven her out of her mind before; when she wasn’t drowning in memories of the taste and feel of him, she was wallowing in sadness and heartache at the thought that Tom – sweet, sensual, gentlemanly Tom – would never be hers. His voice, his mouth…those talented fingers…that exquisitely thick cock…eyes that had beseeched Nore to kiss him and let herself be pleasured…never again.

Yet she refused to take off the ring. Unless she was showering or washing up from a meal, her last remnant of Tom Hiddleston remained snug on her right hand, shimmering with every movement, every exhalation.

“Leonore? Did you hear me?”

_Fuck._

Mr. Fancy Pants Minister of Nothing had been trying to tell her something.

Nore rallied, disgusted with herself for what came pouring out of her mouth so easily. “I’m sorry, sir. I was just thinking about what I’m going to _do to you_ once I get you _alone_ later…”

 _I would’ve never needed to say those words to Tom,_ Leonore mused sadly.

He was always so observant, not needing to say with words what he could say with a touch, or a kiss. His seduction wasn't brazen.

These vainglorious men lacked finesse. Tom did not.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, you pretty young thing,” the sleazy politician snapped. “I’ve just had a message from my _wife”_ – he spat that word distastefully – “that she’s ill and I’m needed at home.”

Nore had enough presence of mind to act contrite and concerned. “Oh, sir, I’m so _sorry._ Is everything okay? What should I do?”

She prayed, hands clasped covertly under the linen tablecloth. When the older man rose from his chair, she silently chanted over and over in her head.

_Let me leave. Let me leave. Let me leave. Please._

“Nothing you can do, I suppose. Talk about a waste of a few thousand pounds…” he trailed off, loudly referencing the cost of his ‘date’ with Leonore. Her mood soured considerably at his lack of gravitas, and she considered telling him off – _loudly_ – in a roomful of people who would surely recognize him if enough attention were drawn his way. But she stayed quiet, deeply hopeful on the inside.

_Let me leave. Let me leave._

Watching as he tossed down a generous tip for the waiter and then grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, Nore felt her tummy unclenching at the prospect that she might actually be going home – to her _own_ home – alone for the night.

The man stood abruptly then, a dark look of unpleasantness clouding his face as he bid her goodnight.

“Regards, young lady.”

And then he moved around the table to Nore’s seat, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Such a shame I won’t be having that _expensive cunt_ this evening.”

He was there at her ear, and then he was gone. Leonore’s skin was crawling.

These vainglorious men lacked finesse. Tom did not.

 

 

_“In the latest Hollywood hookup news, paps in Los Angeles caught superstar Tom Hiddleston out on what seemed to be a date with his costar, Ella Jane Reeves, a few days ago. Exiting popular celeb eatery Mr. Chow, the two looked extremely friendly…”_

The dish Nore was rinsing clattered into the sink, chipping along one edge as she heard the announcement on her television in the next room. She rushed from the kitchen but didn’t make it in time – the entertainment reporters had already moved on to tracking the various levels of bloat Johnny Depp exhibited at his latest round of red carpet appearances.

Ella Jane Reeves?

The name was vaguely familiar, and Leonore, pathetic as she continued to be after her horrid evening out, moved curiously to her phone on the kitchen worktop to Google the actress.

Twenty years old.

Her second starring role…first time as a leading lady opposite costar Tom Hiddleston.

Notorious in fan circles for being whiny and spoiled.

 _Lovely,_ Nore thought. She tossed her phone aside and retrieved the chipped plate from its place in the sink, surveying the damage. As she turned the crockery around in her hands, the emerald-cut gem on her finger winked at her once more. It did that every so often, sparkling particularly brightly when the light was just so. As if the diamond existed solely to taunt her.

_He’s dating a piece of ass younger than you!_

_A man gives you jewelry and you turn into yet another foolish, romantic woman._

_Shouldn’t you know better, in your line of work?_

Leonore threw the plate onto the floor, smashing it into jagged shards. She would clean it up in the morning, she decided, as she made her way upstairs to take a shower. She reeked of politics and resignation.

 

 

The diamond on the bathroom sink seemed to watch Nore as she toweled off, wringing out her hair and putting lotion on her face and body. It continued its teasing sparkle when she put on her silkiest pajamas, as she combed her wet hair, and while she brushed her teeth.

She hated it; she never wanted to take it off.

After Tom sent her the ring in the nondescript envelope, she wore it as a way to try and remain close, to keep hope that he would change his mind and contact her. She didn’t care if he only wanted her as a business agreement; she would do _anything_ to hear that voice and be on the receiving end of his considerable attentions. Its placement on her left hand wedded her to memories of Tom’s warm mouth nestled between her legs, of her hands spread on his broad back and muscled behind. Of their joined bodies, wrapped around one another in wakefulness and in sleep.

When it seemed that things were genuinely finished between them, she elected to wear the ring on her right hand, so as not to confuse her clients – or potential suitors.

Not that she had any. Hard to come across in her profession.

Leonore gently grabbed the ring from its perch on the bathroom vanity and made her way into her bedroom, slipping it habitually onto her right ring finger. She settled herself atop her bed, reaching for the stack of unread magazines on her night table.

_Just think of something else until you feel tired, Nore. Focus on something else._

It must have been the combination of David Yurman, Tiffany, and Van Cleef & Arpels ads in _Vogue_ that made her do it.

She tossed aside the magazine.

She looked at her right hand.

She removed the ring.

She placed the ring on her left ring finger.

_There, she thought. As it should be._

Her mobile chimed.

_**If I sent a car, would you come?** _

Leonore’s heart leapt into her dainty throat. Her eyes flitted back and forth between her phone and her left hand, indecisive as to what to do. It didn’t take her long to decide.

_**Yes sir.** _

She wanted to cry. With what, she wasn’t sure. Relief? Apprehension? Joy?

_**No ‘sir’. No lingerie. No coat. Come as you are. Ten minutes?** _

She wasn’t sure whether he meant the car was ten minutes out, or that he only had ten minutes to spare. Nore didn’t give a fuck how much time he had; she would savour every second as though it was her last. She texted her reply.

_**Yes.** _

Tom sent nothing else.

In a flash, Leonore was putting on a bit of makeup and making herself more presentable than she’d been since her arrival home. She found herself twirling the ring around her finger every so often in nervousness as she threw on actual clothes and retrieved her purse and its contents from the spot she’d dumped them in.

The soft car horn nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

Racing down the stairs, Nore grabbed her keys and locked her door, nearly tripping down the front porch stairway in her haste to get to Reese, who awaited her curbside.

“Hello, Leonore,” he smiled.

It was the first time he’d used her given name.

 _Something’s changed,_ she pondered as he helped her into the Jag.

And indeed it had, for Reese was quite chatty during their drive. He asked her how she was, commented on the weather, even inquired if she’d brought a bag.

“Why?” Nore prodded. _Am I staying overnight?_

She wasn’t sure.

“Mr. Hiddleston called me frantically saying I needed to collect you. I just assumed…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

Leonore gracefully rescued him from the faux pas.

“I’m assuming several things too, Reese. It’s okay,” she smiled at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Which hotel are we headed to this evening?”

The driver paused for a minute, brow crinkling seriously.

“We’re…not, Leonore. I’m taking you to Hampstead,” answered Reese.

When she didn’t say anything, the young man elaborated.

“To Tom’s home.”

 

 

Reese didn’t help her out much beyond the drop-off point in front of the gated property. He punched in the access code, listening for the soft click of the gate latch, and bade Nore good evening. She was shaking so badly with nerves that she barely heard him.

_Tom’s home._

Leonore fidgeted with the ring on her left hand the entire walk up to the front entrance of the house. When she hit the brickwork of the entryway, the immense front door opened.

And there he was.

Her breath caught at how casual, how handsome he looked. He beckoned her forward with a sweet wave of his hand, the smile on his face spurring her onward.

She wanted to run to him.

Nore’s heart pounded when he held out a palm to her, the gesture welcoming and kind. Without thinking, she reached out with her left hand, and Tom’s gaze dropped to the flash of brilliance on her finger. Darting a glance back to her face, his eyes widened at the reminder of their time together on her little hand. An unseen force propelled him out the door, grabbing Leonore and hauling her off her feet and into his arms.

“You’re still wearing it?” he whispered in worshipful awe.

He felt her nodding against him in affirmation.

When she came back to herself, opening her eyes, she realized her arms and legs were wrapped tightly around him and he was ushering her into the foyer of the house, one of his large hands tangled possessively in her long hair. Leonore’s head went to Tom’s shoulder, a sigh of relief escaping her lips at his warm, clean scent and his strong hold. She allowed her eyes to drift shut again, letting her senses experience all the new things: the smell of Tom’s home, the sound of his heaters ticking, the lack of pretense and contracts between them.

When he stopped in the living room, arms loosening just fractionally to let her down, she protested meekly against his neck, quiet as a mouse.

“ _Please, no_.”

Leonore was always used to playing hard to get; her job demanded it. It empowered her and riled her clients – a two-way street that was beneficial for all involved. There was no more ‘hard to get’ within her.

Not with him.

A warm chuckle vibrated against Nore’s cheek. “All right, little one.”

He sat in an overly large armchair, carefully, with Leonore still wrapped around him. When he was comfortable, he maneuvered her around so she sat in his lap, her arms still around his neck and her face lovingly nestled in the crook where his collarbone met said neck.

“Can I talk with you, Leonore?” he murmured, running dexterous fingers through her thick, silky hair. “Can I explain myself?”

She inhaled deeply, eyes still closed, wanting to etch every detail of the current moment into her mind for a lifetime’s safekeeping. After a moment, she made her deal – once again, very quietly. It was as though she was afraid that speaking too loudly would break the spell.

“If you let me stay just like this, please.” Her hands curled tighter against the nape of his neck.

His light kiss of assent against her temple melted her further against him. She was heavily relaxed, but not so much that she didn’t demand something additional from Tom.

“And if you let me ask the questions, please.”

He rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. “You’re saying please over and over, Leonore,” Tom pointed out, humor colouring his deep voice.

At this observation, she sat up in his hold to look shyly into his eyes, her arms never leaving their place around him.

“I don’t want to scare you off,” she whispered, and he could hear the tears threatening the stability of her voice.

Pulling her back against him, Tom shushed her gently, rocking her slightly in his hold. “You won’t, Leonore.”

“Call me _Nore,_ Tom. My family and friends do, the people who really know me. I’d like for you to call me Nore,” she emphasized with warmth in her voice, feeling somewhat calmer since Tom declared he wouldn’t be scared off.

“Is that what I am, Nore? Family? Friend?” Tom asked in all seriousness. He grasped the back of her head, turning her face gently from his neck so he could look into her eyes, genuine curiosity and need written on his face.

Sitting up and looking at his handsome countenance, _really_ looking at him, she bit her lip before moving her tiny palms to cup his face, brushing thumbs along his cheekbones.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to be both…” she trailed off, gaze falling to his mouth. His tongue darted out at her glance, licking his lower lip in anticipation. “Can I kiss you, please?” she begged in a whisper. “I’m afraid I’ll die if I don’t, soon.”

All Tom could do was nod in a rushed, desperate sort of ‘ _uh-huh_ ’ motion before pulling Leonore’s mouth against his own, crushing her to him. She broke from the kiss only when her vision started to go spotty, the lack of oxygen forcing her away from something for which she’d gladly fall into oblivion. He was panting, too, arms still curled around her and pupils dilated to a rich blackness that matched Nore’s coat and much of her lingerie collection.

“Why did you stop…?” she asked, breathlessly. “With my contract, I mean.”

She’d had enough experience with men – in real relationships and otherwise – to expect that Tom would dance around the truth, that he would feed her some story. He was an actor, after all. So Leonore was shocked when he continued to stare at her with those riveting eyes, his honesty pouring forth.

“I couldn’t follow it. I couldn’t get _enough_ of you. And I was afraid that everything was fake between us, even though some part of me felt – still feels – that you need me as much as I need you.”

She wanted to blurt out that she needed him too, but needed to keep some cards close to her chest. She had some other questions, after all.

“Do you have a girlfriend? That Ella Jane _child?”_ She tried not to spit out the word ‘child’ but couldn’t help it.

Leonore felt herself trying to put distance between their bodies, but Tom held her fast.

His own knee-jerk reaction was to run a hand over his face, which Nore at first took for guilt, for evidence of some duplicity he was indeed hiding from her. But his words made all the difference.

“I was afraid you’d see that. Her PR people wanted some buzz for her career and I went along with it, like an arse. She dates some doctor from her old university, from before she got famous. We actually hate each other, Ella and I, if you can believe that,” he laughed humorlessly.

Nore felt herself relaxing against him again. He looked so pained, so agitated at the prospect of her anguish, that she knew he was telling the truth. She asked her next question, holding out a hand to him.

“Why did you send the ring, Tom?”

She lightly pressed the fingers of her right hand against the throbbing pulse at his neck as he lovingly inspected the solitaire of her left, cradling it like a treasure in his palm. After staring at the jewel for a few minutes, moving to kiss her hand every so often, Tom looked up at her face.

“Excuse me for a moment, my sweet Nore,” he broke off abruptly, carefully moving her off of him so he could leave the room.

 _I’ve asked too many questions,_ she cursed herself. _Shit._

She tried to remain comfortable in the comfy chair, hearing the creak of floorboards upstairs as Tom seemed to search for something. He returned to the living room a few minutes later with a rectangular box in his hands, looking at her with apprehension. He didn’t resume his place on the chair with her, merely sitting on the floor in front of her, placing the box between the two of them.

“I’m going to explain myself to you, Nore, and I hope you’ll wait until I’m completely finished. Can you do that for me, beautiful girl?”

His endearment made her blush, as did his now-continual use of her nickname favored by family and friends. He looked so hopeful, yet so anxious about whatever it was he was about to reveal. She leaned forward, almost out of the chair to where Tom sat on the floor, and kissed him quickly, firmly, holding his chin with her left hand. A soft, simple _“yes”_ fell from her lips.

Taking a deep breath, Tom opened the rectangular box in front of him.

Two other diamond solitaire rings sat cushioned in velvet, one an asscher cut, the other a traditional round stone.

Leonore could easily see that the rings were different in size, and most likely would not fit her extremely slender ring finger. She swallowed reflexively, tamping down on the oddity of the situation.

“You’re not the first woman with whom I’ve entered into a contract, Nore.”

She took a deep breath, fingering what turned out to be Tom’s third diamond on her shaking left hand. Nodding, she urged him to continue.

“It’s difficult in my job to sustain relationships, and the more famous I become, the harder it is to protect my privacy, my money, and my heart. Escorting is a popular option for a lot of us,” he looked down, blushing in a moment of shame, “and after I’d been through enough failed relationships, flings, and set-ups, I decided to give it a try. The confidentiality is very agreeable to me.”

He stopped, taking some deep breaths, looking at Leonore to gauge her reaction thus far. She hadn’t run screaming out the door, which was obviously in his favour, but she’d curled in on herself in the chair. He could see she was working the ring down her finger, almost sliding it off completely before moving it back toward her knuckle.

“I really shouldn’t be feeling upset by this,” she whispered guiltily, “considering I met you under the same circumstances.”

Tom held up a hand to silence her, smiling apologetically as he did so.

“Completely understandable, Nore darling. It seems that our attachment has run much deeper than either of us anticipated, hasn’t it?”

He scooted closer to the chair, seeking her closeness. She nodded.

“As you can see from this box,” he cleared his throat, which suddenly sounded clogged with emotion, “I participated in two previous flirtations before I met you. They initially played out much the same way as ours: with the NDAs, the introductory ‘meeting’, and the placement of the diamond ring.”

He kept stopping himself to gauge her reaction thus far, but she kept her face carefully neutral, wanting to hear the entire story. She did, however, keep protective arms wrapped around herself.

“You know, as well as I do, that your… _occupation_ …can sometimes involve fantasy, and role-play. I reasoned, when I began my involvement with escorting, that I would be able to simulate what I wanted in a real-life relationship for a large sum of money, some specific personal preferences, and a few legally sound documents. With no threat of extortion, of my personal information getting leaked to the press, and virtually no strings attached, my heart could stay intact while my needs were simultaneously met. And it did work, in the beginning.”

 _Well now I’m just curious,_ she thought. She again nodded for him to continue, smiling noncommittally so he would know she wasn’t angry.

Yet.

Tom closed the rectangular box, moving it aside as though it was no longer important, despite the fact that he’d stowed away several thousand pounds’ worth of jewelry in said box as though they were just toys.

“My ultimate fantasy is having a loving, doting wife. Someone I can take care of, I can pleasure, I can care and provide for. At the same time, I need to be able to dictate what I want in that situation, because it’s one of very few instances I have the luxury of, well, dictating.”

Nore looked slightly confused at this statement, and not a little alarmed. Tom elaborated.

“You see, Nore, in my work, I am constantly told what to do. Where to go. How to dress. What time to be ready. Where to stand. What direction to look when I’m having my picture taken. Where to autograph someone’s photo. Which scripts to choose; which to decline. What meetings to take. Which directors to call back. I do love my job, make no mistake…”

“You’re very good at it,” Leonore interrupted quietly, smiling at him. She saw him flush a light shade of pink at her praise, and her heart stuttered a little.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he murmured. “But do you see why I ask for things? Wanting you to wear a specific color? Insisting that I feed you from my own hand? Requesting that you have a reliable method of birth control so I can have unmitigated access?”

“Yes, Tom,” she replied. She did understand. It was a little odd, but it made sense. And there were worse things in life. He wasn’t hurting anyone…

 _Unless he ends this once and for all,_ she thought with a frisson of fear.

“I wanted to create the fantasy of a wife, of a sensual, loving environment where I could be in control. And that’s why the rings,” he motioned to the box at his side. Nore looked down at her left hand, flexing her fingers experimentally so the gem caught the warm light in the room.

“The first woman elected to back out of the contract because she didn’t like the nature of the agreement. She was, and I quote, ‘fine to fuck’, but didn’t want the other things I needed, even though I consider them to be relatively harmless and easy to follow.”

“They are,” Leonore interjected throatily, marveling that a woman wouldn’t want to be doted on and sated by Tom. Fed and undressed and read to and cared for…

He heard the change in her voice. “Did you…like those things?” Tom searched her out, looking apprehensive. His fingers threaded and unthreaded, a nervous habit.

Her eye contact at his question was the most direct it had been all evening.

“Very much so, Tom.”

Nore could practically see him relaxing at the sincerity in her answer.

“The second ‘arrangement’ went well at first, with the ring and my requests, but the match was all wrong,” Tom continued his elaboration. “She was too young, and I could see through the charade she was putting on for me. I know I’m paying for a fantasy, but I want it to at least be believable. We only met once after our initial agreements.”

Leonore moved, gracefully, from her position in the chair to join Tom on the carpeted floor, sitting Indian-style across from him so their knees touched. She took the rectangular box and moved it out of sight, so that she and Tom could focus on nothing but one another. And the diamond still sitting on Nore’s hand.

“To wrap this up, as I’m getting more and more embarrassed the longer I talk about it,” he smiled nervously, “I was referred to your agency and heard you were, well, _top of the line_.”

She giggled a little at his expression for her superior “performance”, holding out her hands to him. He grasped them as though they were his lifeline, his thumb playing with the band on her ring finger.

“I fell very hard for you, and I hoped that, judging from your acquiescence to meet me at a moment’s notice – despite the specifications of _The Terms_ – you had very real feelings for me too.”

She pulled her hand from his own, cupping his cheek, eyes searching his.

“Then why did you leave me?” Leonore asked plaintively. Her eyes filled with tears, and instead of trying to will them away, as she had during her awful dinner a few hours ago, she let them drop of their own accord.

Tom gave a startled, disbelieving laugh. It caught Nore off guard.

“Because I had myself convinced you were just in it for the contract. You were acting out of a _duty_ to fulfill a business obligation. You being ‘the best of the best’ and all…I kept second-guessing your willingness to appease me. Stupid, isn’t it?”

He looked down at the floor in shame.

Leonore was openly crying now, tiny sobs escaping her. She cried in sadness that he thought so little of himself – what woman wouldn’t want him? She cried in relief that he had very _real,_ very _deep_ feelings for her.

“I sent you the ring after ending our agreement in the hopes that you would know I think the world of you and I don’t want you as some part of a business arrangement. I asked you here because I’ve not brought a woman into my home since I bought it several years ago. I don’t let people into my life easily, Leonore, but I can’t keep away from you. I can’t stop myself from wanting you. My need for you is real, and I’m very much of the mind that I’m falling in _desperate,_ unending love with you. It’s taken me this long to muster the courage to contact you. I was afraid you would hate me…”

Nore was in his lap so quickly that she practically knocked him onto his back. Her hands moved frantically to his shirt, urging it over his head with his own help, fumbling as he was.

Tom returned the favor in kind, easily pulling off Leonore’s casual clothes, purring his approval.

“I thought I loved you in lingerie, sweet Nore, but seeing you as you really are, without barriers in our way, makes me want to keep you in my arms and not let you out of my grasp for any reason whatsoever…”

She mewled at his words, tearing at his sweatpants and moaning when she realized he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He was already swollen and painfully hard for her, and she eagerly pressed her mouth to his cock, running her tongue around the head, saliva flooding her mouth at his taste.

“Fuck, _yes_ my beauty…” Tom groaned, his hips bucking as she sucked his tip in her mouth.

His fingers, meanwhile, tested the satiny flesh between her legs. He found her soaked, her body crying with need for him.

Nore broke away from his cock to breathe his name when the pad of his index finger found her clit, already straining from between her labia. She could barely get her breath, his stimulation was so exacting, but she gritted her teeth and ground out her words.

“May I have you…?” she pleaded, already moving up his body to straddle his waist, the both of them blissfully naked and aching for one another. She bit and kissed at Tom’s mouth, chin, and neck, sliding her pussy along the silken rigidity of his erection and shuddering on contact.

Tom bit her neck harshly, grabbing her by the hips at the same moment he seated her fully on his thick, straining cock, answering her gorgeous vocalization of pleasure.

“I _beg_ of you… _my Nore_ …”

Her pace was furious; she was up on her haunches working so that she could bring them both immediate relief. Leonore stared at him all the while, mouth slack, bringing his hand up to her clit and joining her own fingers with his as they both stroked her slippery pearl. She was right-handed, but she wanted the diamond between them, an integral part of this lovemaking pact.

“I need you so much that I’m _frightened,_ Tom…I want you so much… _I want to love you so much it hurts_ …” she babbled, feeling the incredible tension in her thighs and tummy.

The resulting shout torn from his throat escalated her arousal immeasurably.

“ _Ahh! God.._.”

He sat up from his prone position, one elbow braced on the floor, to work himself deeper into her womb, the staccato of his hips working against her most sensitive spot. The new position pressed their joined hands tighter against Leonore’s drenched sex, the sharpness of the gemstone rubbing against the bundle of nerves at her apex, and her body dropped forward, seeking out as much contact as possible. She rested her head against Tom’s chest, much as she had upon entering his house – for what she thought would be their last meeting.

But this felt like a _beginning._

Meeting her thrust for thrust, Tom spoke to Nore in deep, velvet tones, best he could with a trembling in his voice.

“Look down, _my beauty_. Look at the diamond between us. Look at your juices slickening the ring, Nore….”

She gasped, doing as he asked.

“I’m going to buy you a new ring one day soon, you sweet woman,” he purred, rubbing at her faster, urging the diamond against her. “And you’re never going to take it off. You’re going to wear it when we’re out together. You’re going to wear it when I feed you at the breakfast table…”

She was crying, moaning his name every few moments. Her whole body shook in anticipation of their shared end. Her hips were a blur, her breasts bouncing in time with her ferocious pace. Tom reached up from her center, lazily rolling a nipple between his fingers. His calm actions were in direct contrast to his forceful thrusts. Leonore was so frantic to consume Tom that she resorted to kissing every inch of his neck and shoulders she could get to as he continued to speak.  

“You’re going to wear it when we rub your sweet, delicious clit…”

 _“T-Tom…”_ she stuttered. _“Please…”_

“You’re going to look at it as you hold my head between your legs, so I can lick and suck at you until you scream…”

 _“Yes…”_ her voice was a high-pitched whine. She felt him swelling within her, deep and thick.

“You’re going to have my ring on your hand, so that when we’re making love, or reading, or you’re sucking my cock…or I’ve got my fingers inside of you…we both know that you’re mine.”

He had to stop speaking for a moment to draw in a ragged breath, letting out a vicious expletive at the immense pleasure coursing through him. She was seconds from exploding, and he’d never been so elated in his life.

_“Be my wife, Leonore.”_

Her orgasm claimed her immediately at his words, and she slammed him back down to the floor so she could spread her legs wider, bearing down on him to milk his cock as deeply as possible. She didn’t care how lewd it looked, her obscene grinding against him, her wet sex drenching him.

“Fuck!…. _yes…yes…yes_!” she cried, breathing harshly.

At her wild cries and anguished expression of pleasure, Tom slapped his hand back against her clitoris, prolonging her climax to the point that he, too, came, yelling himself hoarse against her mouth. He kept his eyes open to watch Nore thrusting her pussy against his pubic bone wildly, shudders wracking her body as her vagina seized around him. He braced his feet on the floor beneath them, burying his cock as deeply as it could go in Leonore’s sopping wet pussy.

She didn’t stop.

With wild eyes, she looked down at Tom, still moving her hips and riding his spurting cock.

 _“Tom…oh…c-coming again!”_ she moaned brokenly.

Leonore reared back, grabbing one of his free hands and once again joining it with hers to rub violently against her abused button, the deep red of her flesh indicating just how aroused she was. The contractions around his length continued, and Tom never ceased his frantic rubbing, shouting at the almost painful pleasure as she continued to milk him with her sex.

“My _beauty…”_ he growled, eyes suddenly dropping down to see a gush of fluid coating his erection.

Impulsively, he pulled Leonore off of him, flipping her onto her back so he could lap at the fluid coursing out of her.

She screamed his name, trying to back away from the stimulation, but he held her fast. He’d never seen anything like it before.

“Do it _again,”_ Tom purred in amazement after he’d sucked at her button and pussy lips while Nore quivered uncontrollably beneath him. _“Gush,_ beauty… _do it_.”

He carefully inserted two slender fingers and stroked her g-spot frantically, grabbing her left hand and positioning it between her legs.

“Help me rub you, Leonore…”

She was biting her free hand, eyes clenched and her entire body flushed. Her hand was trembling so severely and she was so weak that he knew she wouldn’t voluntarily bring herself off again anytime soon.

“My poor beautiful girl,” he laughed, not entirely innocently. “You tell me when it’s going to happen again…”

She was too exhausted to ask what he meant, but he began strategically curling his fingers frantically inside her, and his mouth attached to her clit to suck harshly.

“ _Oh god oh god oh GOD!_ ” she warbled.

Moments later, when she finally, weakly proclaimed, _“now”,_ Tom moved her left hand between her legs, voicing his final request of the evening.

 _“Squirt_ on that diamond, my beautiful Leonore. _Come on it_ …get the ring drenched in your _delicious juice_ …”

She blacked out seconds later.

 

 

Nore awoke in Tom’s arms on the floor, wrapped in a warm blanket and feeling a little sore – and very satisfied.

When she actually opened her bleary eyes, the sight that met her caused a lump in her throat and a skip in her heartbeat.

He was stroking her face tenderly, watching her awaken with love in his eyes.

“There she is,” he murmured, cooing at her. He kissed the tip of her nose.

This was a world away from the cheating, lying arseholes she encountered in her day to day.

_That could all end…_

The thought flitted through her mind.

“How do you feel, my sweet Leonore?” Tom asked, concern furrowing his brow as he ran tentative fingers through her hair.

“Sleepy,” she smiled up at him, moving her arms out from under the blanket to pull his mouth to her own for a tiny kiss. “Have I been out long?”

Tom shook his head, gifting her with a grin. “Only a moment or two. It’s late, though.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“May I stay here, please?”

Tom gathered her closely to him, putting on a stern face. “Oh you _must,”_ he teased. “I have a nice spot for you in my bed, my beauty.”

“But can we _sleep?”_ she yawned. Nore didn’t think she had it in her to have any more sex.

He tilted his head back with a laugh, nodding sweetly at her. _“Lots_ of sleep, Nore. And snuggling. And then I’m going to feed you breakfast in the morning…” he announced.

“And I’m going to quit my job tomorrow…” she declared in a meek, exhausted voice.

Elation quickly followed surprise on Tom’s face at her admission. He could do nothing other than kiss her, hugging her tightly to express his gratefulness. A clean break for her meant a fresh start for them. Authenticity.

“I have some money saved up…a considerable amount, actually,” she whispered sleepily, turning slightly in his arms to curl around him best she could. “I’d like to go back to school. You know I have a Master’s in Psychology?”

He was dumbfounded.

_Beauty and brains. And apparently ambition. And she had her own money._

He kissed her on the mouth, proud of her already.

In many ways.

She nodded to reinforce the information she’d just shared, noticing Tom’s incredulity at her statement.

“I know we have a lot to learn about one another, Tom,” she said.

“Yes we do, Nore.” He picked her up and set out to carry her carefully to his bedroom. “And I look forward to learning something new _every day_. I meant what I said...I want you to be my wife.”

She leaned her head against his chest, realizing she’d not yet walked anywhere in Tom’s home. He’d carried her for the entire duration of her visit.

“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or next week, or next month…I know it seems as though I’m rushing things…but will you truly, seriously consider marrying me, my beauty?”

They’d reached his bedroom, and he sat her lovingly at the edge of the bed, drawing down the covers and fluffing the pillows for Leonore.

“Yes, Tom,” she answered, crawling into his bed exhaustedly and smiling in relief at the luxurious feel of the linens and pillows. “Just promise me one thing, you sweet man.”

Tom clambered into the bed beside her, making himself comfortable before turning out the light and settling Leonore against him.

“What’s that, my beautiful one?”

“From now on, I get to choose my lingerie colors.”

Tom waited a beat before answering, feigning disapproval.

“Now, Leonore, let’s not be too hasty, gorgeous girl.”

She hummed a little laugh against him and quickly fell into a blissful sleep.


End file.
